


a delight for the soul

by sharkfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Artist Dean Winchester, BDSM AU, Breathplay, Caning, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, From Sex to Love, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Impact Play, M/M, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, References to Dean/others in relation to his work, Sex Work, Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Spanking, Sub Dean Winchester, Subdrop, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: No one has ever said Dean is smart, but inviting a client to his home is a new level of idiocy. He tries to counter the mantra of insults inside his head withit’s just Cas,but he wouldn’t be the first professional to get himself killed by a client they thought they knew.The doorbell rings. Itisjust Cas, in jeans and a button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. Dean’s heart pounds and he goes to his knees on instinct, eyes on the floor.“Hello, sweetheart."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 128
Kudos: 442
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. ALL NIGHT

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to QueerBluebird for time spent speculating about bdsm aus and oriana & jemariel for the beta. 
> 
> **“To see in color is a delight for the eye but to see in black and white is a delight for the soul.”**   
>  _andri cauldwell_
> 
> note: stiles appears in this chapter, but i assure you they are only friends.

_ Fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

No one has ever said Dean is smart, but inviting a client to his home is a new level of idiocy. He tries to counter the mantra of insults inside his head with  _ it’s just Cas,  _ but he wouldn’t be the first professional to get himself killed by a client they thought they knew. 

The doorbell rings. It  _ is  _ just Cas, in jeans and a button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. Dean’s heart pounds and he goes to his knees on instinct, eyes on the floor. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Cas says, reaching to stroke his hand through Dean’s hair. 

“Hello, my King, sir,” Dean says. He tries to stifle his grin but it’s impossible when Cas is laughing and tugging at his ear.

“Tsk, tsk,” Cas says. “Badly behaved already.” 

Dean nuzzles into Cas’s hand and says, “That’s what happens when I haven’t seen you in this long.” 

“Stand up,” Cas says. “I know that hurts your knees.” 

This is why Dean was stupid enough to invite a client to his home: because it doesn’t feel this good to obey any other dom. Other doms can scratch the itch and pay the bills, but Dean would kneel at Cas’s feet all day and never notice the hard floor underneath him. 

Dean stands and Cas steps forward to give him a  _ good to see you  _ kiss. Dean doesn’t let any of his other clients kiss him, but he glows under Cas’s affection, whatever form it takes. 

“Come in,” Dean says, leading Cas into the living room. “It’s small, but I like it.” 

Dean blushes as Cas inspects the art on his walls, the books on his shelf, his collection of gifted trinkets. “These paintings are lovely. Are they yours?” 

“Uh,” Dean says, fidgeting. “Yeah. I’m getting better though.” 

“I had no idea you were so talented.” 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, whatever.” 

Cas turns abruptly, stalks up to Dean, and slaps him across the face. “You don’t speak badly about yourself in my presence.” 

Dean nods even while he savors the tingle across his cheek. “Yes — yes, Cas.” 

“Tell me something you like about that one,” Cas says, pointing at one of the canvases. 

Dean remembers what it felt like to create it. Mixing the colors without any conscious thought, the shape of a face forming, her black-hole eyes. The way he felt himself like a black hole in that moment, everything light and good inside him destroyed with a single swallow. 

“I like the marks on her neck,” he says instead.

“Mm.” Cas closes his hand around Dean’s throat without applying pressure. “Good boy. Show me your bedroom.” 

Dean’s heart flutters as he gestures Cas down the hall. He’s laid toys out on the bed in preparation for Cas’s arrival. Back at the beginning, Cas instructed that Dean lay out any implements he’d like to have used on him in preparation for their meetings. _Not what you think I want,_ Cas said. _What_ **you** _want._

Dean doesn’t keep asshole clients, but they’re paying him because they can’t get what they need elsewhere. It’s not about Dean. Sometimes he likes it that way — he’s always a little uncomfortable to choose for Cas, when it’s his job to let a dom take whatever they want. 

Cas pokes around Dean’s room the same way he did in the living room, looking last at the toys on the bed. Some of them are things Dean doesn’t keep at work, and he sees Cas’s eyes catch on them. 

“Take off your clothes,” Cas says. “Did you do as I asked?” 

Dean flashes Cas a smile. “Of course.” 

Two shirts and jeans come off — Dean tosses them in the direction of the hamper — and he stands in front of Cas in flamingo-pink lace panties. The tickle of the lace feels good against Dean’s skin and it reminds him of the joy of submission. A small request from his dom, but a way to please him all the same. 

Dean hates the inspection that so many doms, including Cas, like to do. There’s always a fear in the back of his mind that this time he’ll fail, this time he won’t measure up. But he likes the way Cas touches him as he circles around him, just the brush of fingertips. 

“Thank you,” Cas says. “You’re beautiful.” 

Dean ducks his head and blushes, but Cas grips his chin and guides his head back up for a kiss. “Some of those toys are new,” Cas says. “They’ll leave marks.” 

“It’s cool,” Dean says. “I’m actually off for the next week. Though I could be convinced to make myself available for one particular client.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I am.” Everything inside Dean is buzzing with anticipation. He’d been doing a good job ignoring it, the fantasy of being covered in Cas’s marks, but now that it’s so close — so possible — he can barely contain himself. 

“Face the wall and close your eyes.”

Dean obeys without having to think about it, just like always with Cas. He knows Cas wants him to be surprised by his choice, but it’s ruined when Cas cracks the whip off to the side to get a sense of the weight of it. Dean is expecting the sharp sting of the whip, but instead Cas runs his hand down Dean’s back and kisses the nape of his neck. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Cas says quietly. Goosebumps scatter across Dean’s arms. 

Cas steps back. The first lash is light, like another kiss across Dean’s shoulder blade, and he lets out a slow breath. 

“Brace yourself,” Cas says, and Dean barely has his palms against the wall before the lashes start to rain down. 

A whip isn’t the same as the heat of a palm or thud of a wooden paddle. It’s a sting and then a burn and Dean can feel each of the individual lines across his back. He leans his forehead against the wall, struggling to catch his breath, flinches when Cas’s hand rubs up and down his arm. 

“Shh,” Cas murmurs. “I could do this all night, but I think that’s enough for now.” 

“I’m fine,” Dean says, but his voice wavers.

“We’re stopping.” Cas takes Dean’s elbow to turn him around, gently wipes the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. “Face down on the bed for me, please. Are there washcloths in the bathroom?” 

Dean gestures towards the en suite and settles on the bed to wait. His entire back burns, his entire body hums with pleasure. He smiles when Cas comes back in, disheveled and gorgeous, a towel and damp washcloth in his hands. 

“You didn’t even take off your shoes, you dork,” Dean says. 

Cas looks down and laughs. “I suppose I was impatient.” 

“You’ve got me all night, might as well get comfortable.” 

Cas sits next to Dean and tugs off his shoes, lining them up neatly next to the nightstand. Dean likes that about him, his precision in movement. 

“You’re bleeding a little,” Cas says. “Can I clean you up?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Cas is weirdly careful, considering it was a whip in his hands that put Dean in this state in the first place. Gentle pats of the washcloth clean away the droplets of blood, and then gentle pats with a towel to dry.

“How do you feel?” Cas says, his hand resting on Dean’s lower back.

“Mmm,” Dean says, and then in a flash, the high is gone as he realizes he’s just been laying there luxuriating instead of taking care of his dom — a dom that pays for his submission. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, fumbling to the floor in front of Cas and reaching for his belt. 

“Dean.” The tone in Cas’s voice makes Dean freeze as he waits for Cas’s punishment. Instead, Cas just asks, “Why are you apologizing?” 

Dean hates that his punishment is starting with a confession. “Being selfish and lazy.” 

Cas taps two fingers against Dean’s cheek. It’s sharper than Cas’s full palm and Dean tries to stop himself from leaning into it. “You are neither of those things, especially since I didn’t ask anything else of you. However.” He tilts his head to the side, brushing the pad of his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip. “Now that you’re down there, I think I’d like to see your lovely mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Dean sneaks a glance up at Cas as he goes back to work on his belt. “Ya know, it’s not a punishment if I like it.”

“I didn’t realize you were being punished,” Cas says, lifting his hips for Dean to jerk his jeans and boxers down, then off. “You’re just so pretty when you’re choking.” 

Pleasure blooms in Dean’s stomach and outward as he gives Cas’s cock a loose stroke. There’s no better high than submitting, and when Cas gives a gentle tug to his hair, Dean takes the head in his mouth, relaxing into the familiar rhythm. Lick like this, suck like that. It’s muscle memory, especially with Cas.

Cas grips Dean’s hair tight enough that he stops, looking up. He can feel the string of spit gossamer between his lower lip and the flushed pink of Cas’s cock. “Is this ok tonight?” 

“It’s always ok,” Dean says. Rolling his eyes earns him a ringing slap across the face, but Dean has never said no to Cas. Like with kissing, he doesn’t let any other clients fuck his mouth, not really. 

Cas guides his cock back into Dean’s mouth and then holds him still by the hair, fucking up into his throat until he chokes, and then harder. Dean leans into it, weightless and sinking, every gasp and soft murmur from Cas like a sip of water in the desert. 

“As deep as you can,” Cas says, his grip loosening so Dean can push down. There’s a soft pop feeling as the head of Cas’s cock pushes into his throat, and then he waits, lungs still. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cas says, sounding disappointed. “You’re better than that.” 

Cas strokes his fingers through the hair on the back of Dean’s head and presses, a heavy weight to make Dean take him deeper. Dean can’t get enough, even as he gags, even as his lungs beg for air. 

Cas pulls him off all at once, hard enough that Dean almost topples backwards. “Sorry,” Cas says with a wince. “I was about to come, but I want to fuck you.” 

“We have all night,” Dean says, panting for breath. 

“Still.” Cas scoots to lean against the headboard and gestures for Dean. “Ride me.” 

Dean’s legs are a little numb so he stumbles when he gets up, but he hardly notices. His throat has that raw well-used feeling he loves, and his dom looks fucking incredible all lust-flushed in his bed, and he  _ wants  _ so bad that he rushes with the condom and all but pours lube over Cas’s cock. Cas huffs a laugh and grips Dean’s hips as he sinks down onto him. Dean stares at Cas’s face, entranced by the flutter of his eyelashes as Dean takes all of him at once. 

“Jesus,” Dean whispers.

Cas gives him a small, affectionate smile, and says, “Kiss me.” 

Dean hasn’t kissed anyone but Cas for months, because even though he’s not stupid enough to forget that he’s just providing a service to Cas, he’s been ruined for anyone else. Dean rides him slow, deep, their kisses languid, Cas’s nails biting into his skin. The lashes on his back pull tight and burn as he moves, a constant reminder of being marked by his dom. 

Cas jerks Dean’s head back by the hair, and it surprises a moan out of him, and then another as Cas kisses and bites down his neck. “Good boy,” he murmurs into Dean’s skin. “Make yourself come for me.” 

Dean shudders and speeds up. Cas leans back to watch him, just staring, and Dean stares back. Cas isn’t loud and expressive in bed the way Dean is, but Dean knows his tells. The hitch in his breathing, the way he touches Dean like he can’t get enough. The way his cock gets harder right before he comes. 

Cas holds Dean by the hair and slaps him across the face and Dean comes, helplessly crying out and smearing wet between their stomachs. Cas grabs Dean’s hips and holds him still to grind deep inside before he comes gasping Dean’s name. 

Silence except for panting breaths. Dean’s cheek tingles and he hates how much he missed this, even just this part where he runs his fingertips around the shell of Cas’s ears, trailing down his neck, while Cas leaves soft kisses along his jaw. 

Eventually Dean has to move, knees cracking as he collapses onto the bed. He has wipes next to his bed to clean them up, and then they lay down together, Cas staring at the ceiling while Dean presses up against his arm. 

Usually Cas keeps touching him, close and smiling, but now he doesn’t even look at Dean. The quiet is long and tense and when Dean finally opens his mouth to say something — though he’s not sure what — Cas beats him to it. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Can’t do what?” Dean says, his heart going cold. 

“This,” Cas says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. He glances over at Dean, then looks away immediately, like he hadn’t meant to look at him at all. 

Dean stares blankly as Cas sits up, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his clothes. The panic is a knife in his lungs. “I’m sorry,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, I — I can be good. I can be better, I swear —” 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” Cas says stiffly, standing and pulling on his jeans. “Very much. Thank you.” He shoves his feet in his shoes, not bothering with the laces. Dean can’t move, not even to try to stop him. 

Cas turns and pauses, long enough to slowly run his eyes over Dean, and then he’s gone. 

Dean wouldn’t be able to do his job if he was prone to dropping — some doms like the part where they slowly come down together, holding onto their sub like an anchor, but some doms don’t. Every now and then there’s even a dom who likes the idea of  _ not _ doing something Dean needs. Strangely enough, the clients who like to pretend they’re  _ taking  _ something not willingly offered aren’t the worst. 

Dean doesn’t drop. And he doesn’t now, either, because instead he hurtles towards the ground at lightspeed and crashes like a meteorite. He’s shaking so hard he almost falls as he gets out of bed and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s throwing up violently into the toilet. The world swims around him as he thumps to the tile. A steady mantra in his brain tells him what a fuck-up he is, the one time he tried, really tried with everything in him, to be good enough for a dom, and he fails. This was his second chance, after whatever he did that made Cas cancel a month’s worth of appointments, and he failed. It occurs to him that he could make that litany stop if he just ended it. 

Instead, he pukes again, then lays on the floor, the cool porcelain all along his body a blessing. The mantra keeps playing. His heart isn’t beating and his lungs are a vacuum. He thinks he might be hiccupping around sobs, but it doesn’t matter, because everything goes black. 

Dean’s not out for long, but he wakes up shaking, his stomach rolling with nausea. He won’t ever admit it, but he crawls out of the bathroom and towards his bed. He doesn’t make it to his feet, but he grabs his phone and manages to type out a text. 

_ Dropping come over. _

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just lets his phone slip out of his hand with a clatter and lays down again on the hard floor.  _ You’re fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _ Not because he invited Cas to his home, but because he thought he could be good enough for him.  _ You fucking idiot. Can’t do a single fucking thing right.  _

Dean manages to sit up in time to puke in the trash can next to his nightstand, and only a few minutes later he hears the door open and a worried voice calling, “Dean? Where are you, hon?” 

It’s a small apartment, so Dean doesn’t even try to get up, just listens to Stiles’s footsteps approach his bedroom.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says when he sees Dean, and then he’s kneeling next to him, stroking his hair off his forehead. His voice softens. “Hey, sweet boy. Can you sit up for me?” 

Dean struggles to sit, grateful for warm hands steadying him. “Good boy,” Stiles says, leaning to kiss Dean’s forehead. “Can you stand if I help you? I want you in the bed.” 

Again, Stiles steadies Dean with his hand while Dean pulls himself up, just enough to collapse into the bed. Stiles’s shoes thump to the floor, and then his jeans on top of them, and then he’s in the bed and wrapping his arms around Dean. Dean’s crying again, wetting the front of Stiles’s t-shirt. Stiles strokes his hair and murmurs, “When was the last time I told you how beautiful you are? It’s an honor when you submit to me.” 

Dean can’t help but snort at that, though he’s not quite done crying, and he can hear Stiles’s smile in his voice. “Fine, that was cheesy, but it’s true.” He kisses the top of Dean’s head. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. And I’m going to murder whoever did this to you.” 

“It’s not his fault,” Dean chokes out. “He doesn’t owe me anything.” 

Stiles’s hand stills in Dean’s hair. “A client?” 

Dean doesn’t say anything or look up at him, just burrows deeper like he could hide inside Stiles’s warmth. 

“When you’re feeling better, I’ll help you make a report, ok? This asshole’s going to be blacklisted anywhere he goes. Your back — and then to leave you like this. Christ.” 

The sharp steel in his voice makes Dean shrink back, curling into himself, just another dom he’s disappointed. Two in one night. He’s never been able to please a dom, not really, all the way back to the late John Winchester, who taught him what it’s like to hurt. Who trained the drop out of him. 

“Dean, honey,” Stiles says, making an effort to gentle his voice. “Look at me.” 

Dean is slow to raise his eyes, because he can’t do a single goddamn thing right, and he can feel the salt tracks down his cheeks. Stiles has big, soft eyes the color of good scotch. He quirks a smile and says, “I would like to get you into the shower. Do you think you can handle that?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy,” Stiles says. He kisses Dean’s forehead again and says, “I’ll start the shower and collect you when it’s hot. Stay here.” 

The screaming in Dean’s head has quieted the smallest bit, and it quiets more when Stiles finds him unmoved after starting the shower. “Good,” Stiles says, and Dean might even smile. 

Stiles supports Dean into the shower and they stand under the spray, Stiles’s arms around his Dean’s shoulders, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. Dean’s a few inches taller than Stiles, but he still feels covered entirely by him. 

Dean is weak, and pathetic, and he hardly deserves even this, but he aches so hard for it that he doesn’t pull away. The burn of water running over the lashes on his back reminds him of Cas but he tries to focus on Stiles instead. It doesn’t matter how his heart feels about Cas because his body can take almost as much comfort from  _ this _ dom. 

When Dean’s settled a little more, Stiles pulls out the shampoo and washes his hair, then hands the body wash to Dean and instructs him how to wash himself, part by part. It’s a stupid, transparent game, but it makes Dean feel better. 

Stiles shoots off a text to his partner saying he’s staying the night with Dean. It’s still early, so Stiles wraps Dean up in a blanket — it’s not even cold, but it’s still nice — and Dean sits at his feet while they watch bad reality tv until he falls asleep with his head on on Stiles’s thigh. 

Dean still feels like shit in the morning, but not like he wants to jump off a cliff, and Stiles leaves after breakfast. As he walks out the door, Stiles strongly encourages Dean to report the client that made him drop so hard. Dean shrugs and says he’ll think about it. 


	2. WAIT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean, wait,” Cas says suddenly. 
> 
> Dean almost goes to his knees. He would’ve if Cas asked, right in the produce section. But Cas only told him to wait, so he does.

Dean doesn’t think about reporting Cas, but he does think about Cas. Imagining scenarios where he comes up with something that would prove to Cas that he can learn. That he will learn. That he’ll stop disrespecting Cas with his stupid jokes and act like a submissive is supposed to with their dom. _Something._ Anything. 

There’s nothing. 

Stiles visits when the clients aren’t enough to center Dean. Dean looks at his back in the mirror, watches the lashes knit together, thinks about Cas’s smile. In the moment, he had been so sure that Cas liked dominating him, maybe even liked Dean too — except now he’s gone. 

Dean learned early that he would never be good for much, and it’s fucking stupid that he forgot for awhile. That’s on him. 

Dean’s staring at the bunches of bunches of bananas at the grocery store. This decision always feels far more important than it really is, because it’s hard to plan for bananas to be at the perfect ripeness when you want to eat them. He finally just picks a bunch, and as he’s turning back to his cart, another one rams into the cantaloupe shelf, causing several to tumble and half-heartedly roll away. 

It’s Cas. Staring at him with wide eyes. 

Dean’s instinct is to shrink into himself in front of a dom he’s let down, but he forces himself to _remain_ _fucking calm, asshole._ He pushes his cart towards the melons, because the fish counter is beyond, and he’s been craving salmon. Cas just keeps staring as Dean approaches and then passes with a vague “good to see you.” 

“Dean, wait,” Cas says suddenly. 

Dean almost goes to his knees. He would’ve if Cas asked, right in the produce section. But Cas only told him to wait, so he does. 

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly,” Cas says, apparently missing that Dean reacted as if  _ wait  _ was a command from his dom. “I had some things to think through.” 

“Good for you,” Dean says. 

“I should’ve told you that you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Dean can’t think of anything to say and can’t look at Cas. He feels like the employee stocking carrots is watching. 

“Are you ok?” Cas says. “You — don’t look well.” 

Dean’s hands go white-knuckled around the handle of his shopping cart. He knows he looks like shit. It’s been weeks, but no amount of Stiles’s sweetness can fully silence the pulse of  _ you’re not good enough  _ in his veins. He’s raccoon-eyed and went down a hole on his belt and hasn’t picked up a paintbrush in weeks. Quietly, he says, “I’m fine.” 

Cas raises a hand as if to touch him, but pulls back at the last second with a jerk. “Did someone hurt you?” 

“Did someone hurt me?” Dean repeats with a hollow laugh. “Go fuck yourself.” 

Cas opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, and Dean pretends he wasn’t hoping for a second command to wait. 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** Was it me that hurt you? 

It’s stupid that Dean has him listed the same way he lists all other clients, even though he invited Cas to his home. 

**Dean:** If you have to ask, then you’re too dumb to know. 

Right after he hits send, Dean feels a little sick to use one of his dad’s stupid catchphrases. 

**Dean:** That means I dropped after you left and haven’t gotten back up yet 

The ellipses on the text thread comes and goes for an excruciating amount of time, so Dean forces himself to set down the phone and head to the kitchen to pull a bottle of whiskey off the fridge. He grew up drinking Jack Daniels, a simple man’s whiskey, but Charlie’s girlfriend turned him into a Bulleit bourbon snob. He tosses back a shot’s worth — it’s a waste, but he needs it — then over-pours a few fingers into a glass. 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** I didn’t know. I would’ve stayed, but you told me that you never drop so I thought you would be ok. Is there anything I can do? 

**Dean:** I don’t drop with CLIENTS 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** I am a client.   
**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** *Was

**Dean:** Dude I know it’s fucking stupid for a hooker to get personal with a client but I did it anyway. And I wasn’t good enough   
**Dean:** Why did you even message me 

The drink goes down faster than it should. Dean wonders if Stiles’s partner is over him seeing Dean so much lately. He decides not to bother Stiles anymore and take care of himself. Via bourbon therapy. 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** You’re not a prostitute, and you’re more than good enough. What do you mean by getting personal? 

**Dean:** I invited you to my place. That’s not something you do with clients. 

Ellipses. Ellipses. Ellipses. 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** I’m not sure if it would be better to speak to you on the phone or in person. I’d prefer the latter, but I’m concerned an in person conversation may be affected by our prior relationship. 

**Dean:** Like I’ll turn into a perfect sub who never questions a dom? Seems unlikely but hey maybe you should wait until I agree before you start making plans 

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** Could I talk to you? We could meet for coffee or a drink. Whenever works for you.

Dean fiddles with his phone, plays a round or two of Candy Crush, waiting for some part of him to insist he tell Cas to go fuck himself, but mostly he just wants to see Cas’s face again. Hear the voice that put Dean on his knees. 

**Dean:** Tomorrow 10am Cafe Java on Metric

**Castiel N (sweet, insane blue eyes):** Thank you. I’ll see you then. 

Things should be different in a new context. Maybe Cas won’t be so beautiful in a hole-in-the-wall diner late morning on a Thursday. Maybe Dean won’t feel such a pull to please him. Maybe Cas will be boring and ugly and Dean will pick himself up and move past this bullshit. Maybe Dean will forget. Maybe he’ll eat or even sleep again. 

Cas is sitting at a booth near the back, looking at his phone. Dean stops breathing. Cas is just as beautiful, if not more so, in this dim-lit cheap-coffee place than he was in the sterile room at Light & Dark where Dean sees clients. 

The place isn’t too busy at this time, but Dean still has to weave around a couple of subs kneeling next to tables. Dean feels a flare of jealousy, even though he’s never been comfortable with that kind of overt display in public. 

Cas looks up before Dean gets to the table. Dean didn’t notice in the grocery store, but Cas looks like shit too, and now he looks shocked on top of it, like he didn’t expect Dean to show up. “Dean,” he says, almost a question, like it may not be Dean after all but some other failure wearing his face. 

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a seat across from Cas. He wishes he had come in his leather jacket, a shield draped over his shoulders, but it’s fucking hot outside and he’s just in a t-shirt. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” 

“Well, you know I’m a masochist,” Dean says, looking at the menu so he doesn’t have to look at Cas. 

The server comes by and Dean manages something like a grim smile as he orders nothing but black coffee. Cas orders pancakes. 

“I need to be frank with you,” Cas says in the weirdly stiff way he did the first time they met, when he shook Dean’s hand and then hurt him so good that Dean jerked off thinking about it for weeks. “I think I’ve misunderstood your position when it comes to me, perhaps multiple times now.” Cas takes a careful breath. “I thought I was just another one of your clients. I knew that our interactions were all an act as part of the service you provide, and I’ve never been angry at you for that. You’re very good at your job.” 

The server comes back with mugs and coffee. As soon as she walks away, Dean says, low and like there’s grit in his teeth, “You think that’s how I act when I’m  _ working?  _ I wouldn’t have any clients left!” 

“I’m telling you what I thought. I wanted to prove to myself that I could stop seeing you, so I did, for as long as I could.” Dean accidentally meets Cas’s eyes and feels pinned, inspected. Cas says, “I accepted that I would never have what I truly wanted, but I would take what was offered. But then I couldn’t. I got to see your paintings, but you were still just pretending.” When Dean opens his mouth, Cas cuts him off. “That’s what I thought, until I saw you at the store. I wanted to murder whoever hurt you but — it was me.” 

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Dean says, then takes a too-hot gulp of coffee to try to hide how lost he is in the whirlwind of Cas. 

“I realized that if I could hurt you, then it couldn’t have all been an act.” 

“No one ever thought I was good before, unless I was acting for work. But you —” It feels like if he says it, the walls will come crumbling down.  _ But you said I was good.  _

“I thought you were. I still do.” 

Out of nowhere, Dean’s hands start trembling, and he puts them in his lap to try to hide it. He’s not sure he can breathe. He’s not sure, he’s not sure.

“Dean?” Cas says, gently. Somehow he’s squatting next to Dean’s seat with a hand on his arm, time going fuzzy while Dean gasped for breath. “Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” Dean says, though it’s clearly a lie, given away by the shake in his voice. 

“Dean, you were very, very good for me,” Cas says. “The best.” 

Dean can’t look at Cas’s eyes, but instead he ends up looking at Cas’s hand on his arm. Not gripping, just grounding. Cas has a pianist’s fingers, lovely and long, and Dean has a visceral memory of a night a few months before, when Cas used them to make Dean come so hard he saw stars, or maybe the time when Cas paid too much money to do nothing but trace lines between Dean’s freckles with his fingertips. 

Cas says, “If you’re willing to forgive me, I’d like to ask you on a date.” 

Dean’s eyes jerk to Cas’s. Dean has always liked the contrast in the splash of dom-black over clear sky blue, but it may just be that he likes all of Cas. “Then ask.” 

“Will you go to dinner with me?” 

“Ok. Yeah.” Dean forces himself to swallow. “Yes.” 

“And will you eat the pancakes our server is awkwardly waiting to bring over?” 

Dean’s hands are still shaking, but he manages a laugh. “You ordered the damn pancakes for me?” 

“To share with you.” 

Cas stands. There’s a flutter in Dean’s stomach for the moment Cas looms over him before sliding back into the booth. The pancakes are brought over, and Dean doesn’t look up as they’re served. The whole place saw him make a scene leading to his dom submitting to  _ him.  _ Kneeling. It might be worse that the waitress is a submissive, too. Dean doesn’t know how to serve, but she does. 

There’s silence for a minute while they both pick at the pancakes, the plate centered between them on the table. “I hope that you had someone,” Cas says suddenly. “Since you’ve been unwell.” 

“I have a friend,” Dean says. And then, “Don’t expect me to stop working just because you’re going to feed me.” 

Cas smiles, and Dean’s not sure why. “Of course not.” 

“You weren’t the only person I was fucking,” Dean says. “There’s less sex than people think with my job, but still. You’re not the only one.” 

“I know,” Cas says, and takes a bite of pancake. 

“I spend a lot of time submitting for other people.” 

“Dean, I know what your work entails. Intimately.” Cas licks a drop of syrup off his bottom lip and for a moment Dean forgets what they’re talking about. “As long as you’re safe and happy, then I’m happy.” 

Dean snags a slice of bacon. Just the perfect amount of crispy. “Other than inviting some asshole over to my place and then dropping for weeks, I’m safe and happy.” 

Cas winces. “I can’t go back and fix that, but what can I do now to help?” 

A lot of memories cross Dean’s mind in the space of a blink. The first time he heard Cas laugh, the first time he made Cas blush. The first time Cas said, soft against his ear,  _ Good boy.  _ The way he felt, floating for days, the first time Cas kissed him. 

And the weeks of grief. Empty whiskey bottles in the trash. Calls to Stiles at two a.m. Half-written texts to Cas abandoned. All the food in his fridge spoiling. 

“Do you want to hang out for awhile?” 

Cas looks startled by the response, but recovers immediately to say, “Of course. Did you have any specific ideas?” 

“It’s fucked up that you haven’t seen Jurassic Park, and my place is close.” 

“Wonderful.” Cas’s smile is blinding the way a single star against a midnight sky is. “Finish your breakfast first.” 

“Um. I just remembered that my place looks like a depressed crazy person lives here,” Dean says, cringing as he turns the lock. “Sorry.” 

“It’s ok,” Cas says. Dean feels the ghost of his hand, as if he reached to touch Dean’s lower back but withdrew at the last moment. 

“Sorry,” Dean repeats as he bends to pull off his boots in the entryway. 

“I must say, your version of ‘depressed crazy person lives here’ is much neater than I expected.” 

“I’ll clean up real quick,” Dean says, with the sudden taste of sour on his tongue. He rushes towards the coffee table, which isn’t  _ completely _ covered in beer bottles and soda cans, but only because Dean uses it as a footrest. 

“Don’t,” Cas says. His tone is easy, no sharp edges at all, but somehow it’s still immediately recognizable as a command. Dean halts. He hears Cas’s breath catch behind him, but then Cas says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give orders when I have no right to.” 

“What if — what if you could? If you had a right to?” 

“If I could, I would spoil you to death,” Cas says, then rushes to continue. “Unless you wanted something different. I can’t make up for what I did, but I want to try anyway. So whatever you want.” 

Dean doesn’t turn around because he thinks if he looks at Cas, he’ll cry. “You can,” Dean says. 

He hears Cas take a few steps closer, then pause again. “May I touch you?” 

Dean nods but otherwise doesn’t move, because Cas didn’t ask him to, and though he didn’t know what he expected, he’s surprised that Cas just slips his arms around Dean’s middle and hugs him close. “I missed you,” Cas whispers against Dean’s shoulder. 

Something is warming at Dean’s core, just as much from Cas’s words as his touch, but he can’t make any words come out. 

Just a little bit louder, Cas says, “If you’ll show me the trashcan, I’ll clean off the table, and you can get us drinks to start covering it again.” 

“Water, Coke, beer, milk, orange juice?” 

“Water is fine.”

“And — for me?” Dean asks before Cas pulls away. 

Pause. “Water.” 

Cas follows Dean into the kitchen to grab the trash can and then leaves again. Dean listens to the clink and crunch of Cas clearing off the table as Dean gets two glasses of water. He keeps his eyes down as he rounds the corner into the living room. 

“Remember how you said you wouldn’t have any clients left if you acted like you did with me?” Cas says as Dean approaches. “I like that Dean. The one that will look at me.” Dean rolls his eyes and Cas laughs.  _ “That’s _ my favorite Dean.” 

“Where’s my favorite Cas?” 

“Which one is that?” 

Dean can feel himself flush pink. “The one who tells me where to sit but laughs when I’m being a jackass.” 

Cas takes the glasses out of Dean’s hands and sets them on the now-clear coffee table, which is also suspiciously further from the couch than it was before. “Take a cushion and sit on the floor. Sit, not kneel.” 

Dean tries not to look as eager as he feels as he pulls one of the cushions off the couch — thank god there’s only a minimal amount of crumbs underneath — and sits on it on the floor. Cas sits on the couch next to him, his knee just the right height that Dean could rest his head on Cas’s thigh if he wanted. If he was allowed. 

Dean starts the movie. He feels Cas’s hand hesitate above his head, then lower to stroke through Dean’s hair, over and over. They don’t say much during the movie, except Cas dropping  _ Jesus Christ  _ and jumping in his seat at the right moments, then laughing with relief when everything ends up ok. Dean laughs along, and does end up resting his head against Cas’s knee. 

“Verdict?” Dean asks as the credits roll, looking up at Cas. 

“The best dinosaur movie I’ve ever seen.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “How many dinosaur movies have you seen?” 

Cas’s touch drifts, aimlessly, to run his fingertips along Dean’s jaw, a few days late for a shave. “There’s that exceedingly depressing cartoon one.” 

“Yeah, I think JP is better than that one, too,” Dean says, turning and crossing his arms over Cas’s knee. 

“During the movie, I kept wondering how much I don’t know about you,” Cas says. “You may have told me a lot, but I imagine there was still plenty you held in.”

“You held things in, too. I don’t even know what your job is,” Dean says. 

“I’m a software engineer. How do you spend your time when you’re not working?” 

“Watch dino movies with cute doms, apparently.” Cas flushes a little and Dean grins up at him. “I fiddle around with cars sometimes. Make shitty paintings. Game night on Wednesdays. What do you do when you’re not engineering or paying people to sub for you?”

“More engineering,” Cas says with a smile. “I do pro-bono work for an animal shelter.” 

“You help save kittens?” 

Dean thinks he sees pink rising across Cas’s cheeks. “Indirectly. I should spend more time at the shelter but — my other skills are worth more to them.” 

“Well, damn. Do you think my professional skills would help save kittens?”

Dean’s favorite thing is getting a full body laugh from Cas, head tossed back. More than a beating or an orgasm or kneeling, it makes Dean hum all over with the pleasure of submitting. The pleasure of giving joy to his dom. 

By the time Cas leaves, Dean feels better than he has since the last time he saw him. He’s even stupid enough to hope for a kiss, but Cas just squeezes his hand and promises he’ll text later. 


	3. PROMISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me recap the fuck out of this,” Charlie says, gesturing at him with a half-smoked joint. “This dude you’re really into, who you used to bang, and I’m not going to ask if he’s a client because I’ll lose my shit, I swear to —” 
> 
> “Focus,” Jo says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content note:** brief moment where a client ignores dean's safeword

Cas doesn’t kiss him the next couple times they see each other, either, but he does dominate. He does it in a quiet way that’s more like requesting Dean’s submission over and over, but not expecting or demanding it.

This is good. This is enough, Dean insists to himself every time he goes to bed alone. At least his appetite is back. 

An appointment request comes in from Alastair. Unlike some other subs, Dean doesn’t generally mind him. He’s intense, but Dean can handle intense. It’s actually been kind of fun figuring out how Alastair can hurt him the most without leaving marks. 

Like most things, it’s fine until it isn’t. Alastair has Dean dangling from a hook in the center of the room by leather cuffs around his wrists, legs spread wide. Dean knows Alastair is in a mood, so he’ll be especially sore tomorrow, but it’s a satisfying pain, the kind that has him sagging against the cuffs, floating a little. 

And then Alastair takes a step back and starts to hit him welt-hard with the flogger. Dean’s floating high enough that it takes two snaps of Alastair’s wrist to really recognize the change in intensity, and then another moment to just be  _ surprised  _ that anyone would have the balls to ignore an employee’s limits at L&D, and then he’s snapping his fingers and yelling, “Red! Red!” 

He’s not shouting  _ red _ for Alastair, who has clearly left the realm of giving a fuck. It’s for the security guards who burst into the door just a few lashes later. 

Dean’s pissed as hell, and it’s a good thing that Alastair is dragged out of the room before one of the guys finishes unbuckling the restraints, or Dean might have fucking murdered him. Charlie makes him cancel his last two appointments and fusses over cleaning and bandaging the worst of the lashes. Dean has had worse than this and liked it, but those kinds of marks are against Light & Dark’s policies and he’s disgusted that someone would be stupid enough to do this. 

Dean goes home and takes a late afternoon nap. When he wakes up it’s dark outside, he’s disoriented, and he’s in a type of pain he associates with  _ Cas  _ — maybe just because he was the last one to gift anything like these kinds of marks to him — except this time it hurts. Dean didn’t give it to Alastair; Alastair took it. 

He reminds himself he’s fine, except now doubts are crowding into his mind. He called red like a fucking dumbass. Like he’s weak. Like he can’t take a hit when he’s known how since he was too young to remember. 

His hands shake a little when he picks up his phone. Cas answers right away. “Hello, Dean,” he says, the hint of a question in his tone. Dean tries to tell himself it’s a  _ why are you calling?  _ borne of worry and not annoyance. 

“Hey,” Dean says. It comes out rough. “So I — I could call Stiles, but if —”

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m on my way.” 

“Ok,” Dean says. “I’ll unlock the door.” 

Cas must speed his way to Dean’s place, because he’s coming in the door just as the coffee maker sputters to a stop. Dean gives Cas as much of a smile as he can manage when there’s still the clench of panic around his lungs. He starts to pull down two mugs from the cabinet, but Cas is just standing there outside the kitchen, not approaching.

“Hi,” Cas says, cautiously. 

“Hi,” Dean replies. “Do you want some coffee?” 

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you this, but — I know you call Stiles when you need a dom.” Cas grimaces in a way he probably hopes Dean doesn’t notice. “Did something happen?” 

“It’s not a big deal, but yeah, something happened at work, and I just…” Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Wanted to see you, I guess.” 

“Are you injured?” Cas says, finally approaching him, slowly. 

“I was flogged over-enthusiastically earlier. But if you — if you wanted to touch me.” Dean looks down. “That might help.” 

Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands and then stands tall to kiss his forehead. Dean starts to shake, because in the last few hours, he’d forgotten what a kind touch was like. He’d half-expected Cas to just hit him, shove him to his knees, choke him. 

“I want to hug you,” Cas murmurs, “but I don’t want to hurt you more.” 

Dean takes the half-step closer until they’re touching chest to chest and presses his face into Cas’s neck. Cas strokes his hair and says softly, “You deserve better. You’re so good, and you should be cherished.” 

Dean surprises himself with a dry sob. Stiles would have praised him, too, and it would have been a comfort, but Stiles has never praised him like it’s a _ promise.  _

“Sweetheart,” Cas says, steady and safe. “Would you feel better sitting or lying down? Or is standing best?” 

“Lay on my stomach, probably. If that’s ok? In bed?” 

“If you’re inviting me.” 

Dean nods against Cas’s neck. Thank god he didn’t actually cry. Thinking about crying as he chokes on Cas’s cock usually sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, but crying pathetic tears all over his shirt would be humiliating. 

Cas takes a step back so he can tilt Dean’s chin up to force eye contact. “Listen to me,” Cas says in a voice that doesn’t invite questions. “It’s ok to be upset. But I’m here for you. I’ll cherish you tonight.” 

The  _ tonight  _ sits bitter in Dean’s lungs, but he lets Cas lead him to his bedroom. Glancing at Dean’s jeans and rumpled flannel, Cas says, “You should change into something more comfortable.” 

The boulders on Dean’s shoulders lighten at least a little as he changes clothes in the bathroom. In the nudity in the middle, Dean turns in the mirror and inspects the open slashes on his body. The worst of it is on his back, but there are a few wrapping around his side and hip, too. 

Dean has never been ashamed of his job. Some days suck, just like any other job, but he’s providing a legitimate service that helps people and mostly having a good time doing it. But as he pulls a worn-soft t-shirt over his head, he feels ashamed for Cas to know that he redded out. He feels ashamed to have failed. 

And he’s ashamed that he crawls into bed and collapses face down without waiting for Cas to guide him. 

“Would you like me to lay with you or sit?” 

“It — it would help if you could lay down and — touch me.” 

Dean closes his eyes and listens as Cas’s shoes thump on the floor — it must be the All-Stars, not heavy enough to be the oxfords — and then the jingle of his belt as his jeans fall. And then Cas, in bed next to him, stroking his hair and pressing kisses to his shoulder through his shirt, which shouldn’t feel as sweet as it does.

Dean turns his head to face Cas, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “You didn’t have to come. I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t have to ask, and I feel lucky that you did.” Cas traces a thumb across Dean’s eyebrow, then leaves a kiss there. 

“You probably have something better to —” 

“I was watching Dr. Sexy and eating shitty pizza.” 

Dean opens his eyes to stare at Cas. “Why were you watching Dr. Sexy, and more importantly, did you bring any of the pizza?” 

Cas laughs, and it’s so beautiful that Dean forgets all about his really fucking terrible day at work. “I’m watching Dr. Sexy because you like it and I wanted to catch up, and no, unfortunately I left home sans pizza. I’ll order more.” 

“Not yet,” Dean says, because he couldn’t stand if Cas stopped touching him. They just look at each other for a few minutes, Cas stroking Dean’s hair. It doesn’t feel awkward like Dean would expect; instead it feels quiet, intimate.

Dean focuses on the black splash on Cas’s left iris. Some people say it means something, the shape of it, but no one can agree on what. Dean isn’t sure what he sees in Cas’s mark, but he wants to find out. He wonders what Cas sees when he looks at the white space where color should be in Dean’s eye. 

Because the silence does start to feel like an inspection, Dean says, “So, um, you realize there are like 20 seasons of Dr. Sexy, right?” 

“I didn’t want to miss anything. However, I could stand with less of the actual Dr. Sexy.” Cas furrows his brow. “I hope he has a really good mat to stand on in the operating room. Cowboy boots don’t seem ideal for lengthy surgeries.” 

“You — don’t like the doctor? Are you serious?” 

“He’s obnoxious and spends too much on hair products.” 

Dean snorts, and then laughs for real, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Cas’s unruly hair. “Maybe you should spend  _ anything _ on them.” 

Cas grins and it’s so beautiful that Dean’s heart stops, then restarts into a gallop. “You told me you liked my hair.” 

“It doesn’t count if you were sucking my dick at the time.” 

Cas blushes.  _ Blushes,  _ like he hasn’t choked Dean on his cock, or stretched him open on a plug Dean hadn’t even been sure he could take, or used a crop on the head of Dean’s cock and his ass and his thighs, or made him come from nothing but nipple clamps and Cas’s tongue in his ass. 

“We could watch all 20 seasons together,” Dean says. “If you want.” 

“We’re going to have to spend a lot of time together for that,” Cas says, faking a frown. 

“Do you want to watch a couple episodes now?” 

“I would love to.” Cas sits up, and Dean misses him immediately. “And pizza.” 

“And pizza,” Dean agrees. 

Dean usually kneels, but Cas invites him to share the couch. By the end of the first episode, Dean is wrapped up in Cas’s arms and nestled under his chin. 

Cas stays late and doesn’t kiss Dean when he leaves. 

Dean needs new friends. 

“Let me recap the fuck out of this,” Charlie says, gesturing at him with a half-smoked joint. “This dude you’re really into, who you used to bang, and I’m not going to ask if he’s a client because I’ll lose my shit, I swear to —” 

“Focus,” Jo says. 

Charlie shoots her a glare, then turns back to Dean. “— used to bang, but then took a break from that and hopped into this weird thing you think is ‘friends’ where he watches five thousand seasons of Dr. Sexy, keeps hinting he wishes he had one of your paintings —” 

“What? He hasn’t —” 

“He has, dumbass,” Jo interrupts. “Just from what you’ve told us.” 

“— and he’s made himself available at your beck and call, and  _ asked you on a date,  _ and makes you feel all gooey and go to your subby happy place, and you’re telling me he doesn’t like-like you?” 

“He asked me but then — you know, not again. And we haven’t. He hasn’t even kissed me!” 

Jo rolls her eyes and asks, “Have  _ you  _ kissed  _ him?”  _

Dean scowls. He almost protests that no one wants a sub who would kiss them first, but he already knows exactly what they would say in response. “What if you’re wrong?” 

“What if we’re right?” Charlie says. 

Dean’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. He sees Cas’s name and immediately tunes out his meddling friends. He doesn’t know why he tells them anything in the first place. 

**Cas:** I haven’t taken you to dinner like I promised. Tell me when works for you and what type of food you want. 

“I can totally see your heart eyes,” Charlie says, jabbing Dean with her foot. 

**Dean:** Tomorrow night? Mexican? 

**Cas:** I’ll pick you up at 7. 

**Dean:** I’m driving.

He hits  _ send  _ before he can stop himself and just stares at it for a moment. In text, right in front of him, the insubordination is blatant. Dean watches his screen as Cas types. He might take the invitation back.

“What’s he saying?” Jo says, digging a piece of ice out of her drink and throwing at Dean. 

“You’re a goddamn heathen,” Dean says, hardly paying attention.

**Cas:** I should have expected you to say that. :) I’ll be at your place at 7, and you can drive from there. 

**Dean:** See you then :) 

Dean looks up at Charlie and Jo and says, “We’re going on a date tomorrow.” 

Charlie squeals and says, “What are you going to wear? We better help you decide.” 

Before he can stop them, Charlie and Jo both tromp down the hallway to his room. They all have a flying-high argument about Dean’s wardrobe, which mostly comes down to Jo and Charlie being disbelieving that he hardly has one. 

“You wear the same thing all the time!” Dean protests, gesturing towards Jo’s usual get-up of jeans, boots, tank top, and ponytail. 

“Yes, but I have  _ options _ when a cute girl asks me on a date. I have to make her think I’m hot before I’m getting anywhere else.” 

“You are hot,” Charlie and Dean say at the same time. 

Charlie lays out the jeans, button-up, belt, and shoes out on the dresser. “Don’t deviate,” she warns. 

Dean nods. He has to make Cas think he’s hot — not just a pretty face, but whatever Cas is looking for in a sub. 


	4. VERY, VERY GOOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to decide for yourself, because there’s no expectation,” Cas says. “If you wanted, I would take you to bed. Otherwise, I would be perfectly happy with a beer and Dr. Sexy.”

Dean opens the door and whatever greeting was growing in his mouth vanishes. There’s no doubt that Cas is gorgeous on the worst of days, but it’s not usually on display like this. Dean wonders who picked out his outfit because he is  _ hot.  _ He’s even in the kind of eyeliner that draws attention to the ocean of his eyes and the black dom mark floating in the blue at the same time. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s lucky to have the door frame to hold on to, because he’s fucking weak for Cas’s voice. Cas’s gaze sweeps down Dean’s body and then back up again to his eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re driving, because I won’t be able to take my eyes off you.” 

Dean huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes but can’t control his blush or the pleasure of submission planting in his heart. 

As they enter the restaurant, Dean slows to walk a half-step behind Cas, eyes down. He hears the snarl in his head:  _ You’re fucking invisible. Stay that way.  _ The hostess refers to Cas as  _ Sir _ and offers him a cushion for his sub. Cas declines, which Dean is thankful for — he would kneel if Cas asked, but he doesn’t like how it feels to be nothing but an inconvenient piece of furniture that people have to step around. 

Dean doesn’t really listen to the specials, instead distracted by imagining leaving a kiss in the dip between Cas’s collarbones. He doesn’t think he’s ever kissed that exact spot, which is a shame. There’s an awkward pause, and then Cas says, “Dean?” 

Dean jerks his eyes up and the server is looking at him expectantly. The waitress repeats, “What would you like to drink?” 

“Uh, whatever —” Dean says, glancing towards Cas. “Whatever you —” 

“Tell her what you want, please,” Cas says. 

“Uh. Get me one of those margaritas the size of my head. Rocks with salt.” The server goes for the drinks and Dean tries to cover up his pink-embarrassed cheeks. “I have a confession. Charlie and Jo picked out my clothes.” 

Cas laughs, and Dean glows. “I have a confession,” Cas says. He leans towards Dean across the table and Dean is drawn to do the same. “I went out and bought this shirt last night.” 

“Are you serious? You’re such a fucking dork.” 

“I know,” Cas says, still smiling in the easy way Dean is a little too attached to. “I just wanted to —” 

The server is back with two margaritas the size of their heads. Dean eyes his as Cas orders, reminding himself of the Impala’s keys in his pocket, and then the server asks, “And for you, Mx?”

Dean glances at the menu and says the first thing he sees. He doesn’t know why the hell he would’ve expected someone who isn’t even his dom to order for him. In the corner of his eye, Cas is watching him. 

When they’re alone again, Cas says, “I don’t know you well enough to choose for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, wishing he had hidden the disappointment better. “Is it stupid that I’m nervous?” 

“Depends on what you’re nervous about. I assume there’s no longer a question of how I feel about you.” 

“Nervous that I’m going to make a fool of myself, I guess.” 

“Oh, that’s not stupid at all,” Cas says, flushing. “I’m afraid of making a mistake.” 

“Such as?” 

Cas looks around the dining room, all the couples, all the collars, all the subs kneeling on pillows. “I don’t want to overstep. I realized I — don’t even know what you need. Or what you want. When I’m not a client.” 

Dean is momentarily confused. Of course Cas knows what he wants. They spent months sharing it. But — his other clients think they know what he wants, too, because he’s good at his job, not because they actually know anything about him. 

“What we used to do,” Dean says. “What we’ve been doing. That’s what I want.” 

Cas nods. Smiles. Presses his knee against Dean’s under the table all through the meal. 

Still sitting in the Impala in front of Dean’s apartment, Dean asks, “Why haven’t you kissed me?” 

“I didn’t want to presume,” Cas says. “But I had hoped to tonight.” 

Dean smiles wide. “Do you want to come in?” 

“I would love to.” 

Cas doesn’t touch Dean until the front door is closed and locked behind them, but before Dean bends to pull off his boots, Cas steps close and slides a hand into Dean’s hair to guide him into a kiss. Dean’s pulse thunders as he kisses back. He missed the way Cas’s mouth feels, the smell of his aftershave, the way his touch always feels so solid and warm. 

“I want you to decide for yourself, because there’s no expectation,” Cas says. “If you wanted, I would take you to bed. Otherwise, I would be perfectly happy with a beer and Dr. Sexy.”

Somehow Dean manages to choke out, “The — the bed. Is what I’m deciding.” 

“Take off your shoes, Dean,” Cas says lightly, stepping back to pull the laces loose on his chucks. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, and gives Cas a cheeky grin. 

“Don’t start with me.” Cas is trying to sound stern, but can’t manage to hold down a smile. 

“Or what?” Dean asks, backing into the apartment, feeling a sharp pleasure at the way Cas stalks after him. 

“Or,” Cas says, flipping on the bedroom light. Dean is glad he had the foresight to tidy up a little, even though he didn’t really expect for anyone but him to see it. “I will hurt you very, very good.” 

Dean’s whole body goes hot and he stumbles over his own feet. He’s lucky as hell that he was close enough to the bed to manage to fall awkwardly into it instead of crashing to the floor. “It sounds like I  _ should  _ start with you,” he says, trying to cover up being a clumsy idiot. 

Cas tilts his head, looking down at Dean. “If you want me to hurt you, you could just ask nicely.” Cas takes a step forward, between Dean’s splayed knees, and slaps him across the face. “Take off your clothes.” 

Dean fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, fumbles with his jeans, fumbles until he’s bare and flushed under Cas’s eyes. He tries not to fidget as Cas looks him over. 

Cas starts on the buttons of his own shirt, too damn slowly. “Have you been thinking about me when you touch yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Dean manages to say. 

“Show me.” 

Dean leans on an elbow to dig lube out of the nightstand, his fingers hesitating on cool metal. “I usually wear nipple clamps. Do you want me to or no?” 

“If that’s what you usually do, then yes.”

Dean settles in against the pillows, biting his lip and hissing as each clamp pinches down on his nipples. It’s pain, but it’s also  _ relief.  _ He hears a soft hum in response, but doesn’t look up, strangely shy as he slides the palm of his hand down the length of his hard cock to squeeze his balls. He jerks off for doms all the time, except none of those other doms are  _ Cas. _ Cas is different, always has been. 

Dean starts to stroke his cock and can’t stop himself from looking at Cas again, just to watch the reveal of his stomach, and as Cas starts to unbuckle his belt, Dean stares at the outline of his hard cock underneath his jeans, tense with anticipation. 

Cas’s jeans drop to the floor and his underwear follows. He gives Dean a sly smile that makes a shiver run down Dean’s spine, then he leans over him and pulls the chain connecting the nipple clamps upwards until he’s pressing it against Dean’s lips. 

Dean whimpers and takes the chain between his teeth. Any movement of Dean’s head makes the clamps pull harder. 

“I want you to think about how it feels,” Cas says. “Each part of your body.” 

Dean’s thinking about how it feels. It feels overwhelming. Cas is just  _ so much.  _

“Think about your nipples. Think about how it feels to be pinched so tight, how it feels to pull on the chain.”

Suddenly the pain in Dean’s nipples comes into sharp focus while everything else fades into the background. The clamps are as tight as Dean can take them, tugging as Dean squirms. 

“Think about your hand. What does it feel like to touch your cock? Do you like touching mine better?” 

Dean’s eyes fall closed, a moan escaping from his throat.

“Think about your cock. Think about how much better it is when I touch you.” 

Dean shudders. His mouth falls slack, the chain between the nipple clamps slipping from between his lips. 

“Think about your ass and mouth, how empty they are.”

Dean almost comes, more from Cas’s voice than the physical sensations. Almost, but he backs off at the last moment. 

“You were about to come,” Cas says, somehow sounding smug and disbelieving at the same time. 

“I stopped though,” Dean says. 

“You did. What a good boy you are.” 

Dean’s cheeks feel hot and his cock jerks against his hand. He forces himself to open his eyes, and the sight of Cas stroking his own cock makes Dean even more aware of how empty his mouth and ass are. “Please,” Dean says. “Touch me. Please.” 

Cas casually runs the fingertips of one hand up Dean’s thigh, over his hip, all the way up to a nipple. He gives a soft pull to the clamp — Dean gasps — and then turns the screw to tighten it. Dean didn’t think he could take it any tighter, and now he is, and he has to take his hand off his cock entirely because there’s a chance he’ll lose control when Cas tightens the second one. 

Dean’s back arches, into and away from the pain at the same time. Cas flicks at one of the clamps and Dean cries out, more precome joining the puddle on his stomach. “You are so beautiful,” Cas says, oddly solemn. “I thought my imagination must have tinted my memories of you with rose glasses, but you’re — you’re perfect.” 

“Before we met at the cafe,” Dean says, a little breathless, “I tried to convince myself that you couldn’t be as amazing as I was remembering. Trying  _ not _ to remember, really.” 

“And? Do I live up to your fantasy?” 

“It wasn’t a fantasy, because you really are awesome.” 

Cas smiles. “But you do have fantasies about me.” 

“Yeah.” Dean’s hands are squeezing the comforter, afraid of what will happen if he touches himself or Cas. 

“I want you to think about the last time you jerked off thinking of me. Think about that fantasy, what you imagined.” 

Cas’s eyes are hypnotic. Dean swallows hard.

“How did it start?” 

“Uh.” Dean blushes and looks away. “You were pissed that another dom had flirted with me. It’s fucking stupid, I know, considering —” 

“I was pissed that another dom flirted with you,” Cas interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “Then what?” 

“Then you said —” Cas takes off the nipple clamps. He’s slow and careful, but Dean still cries out from the sharp throb of pain that hits all at once. When Dean can speak again, he continues, “You said that you wanted to remind me — who I belong to.” The truth is, in the fantasy, Cas had wrapped his hands around Dean’s throat and said,  _ Tonight, I’ll remind you why you wear my collar.  _

Cas nods thoughtfully. He’s so hard and wet at the tip, just like Dean, except Dean is mostly incoherent while Cas manages to be  _ thoughtful.  _ “Where were you and where was I? Show me.” 

Dean shifts against the bed. “I was like this, and you were here,” he says, spreading his legs. 

Cas fits himself between Dean’s legs, squeezing one of his knees. His raised eyebrow says,  _ Continue.  _

“And you kissed me.” Dean touches Cas’s wrist, tugs to get Cas to lean over him. “I’ll show you how.” 

Cas leans down, closer, closer, and Dean tilts his chin so their mouths meet in a slow, deep kiss. A long one, a hundred of them, Dean’s knees tightening around Cas’s hips, their cocks hard and slipping against each other. 

Cas eases out of the kiss and murmurs, “And then?” 

Dean blinks like trying to clear the haze from his mind. “Then I was close to coming and — I know you fucked me, but it’s kind of blurry.” 

Cas pulls back to look at Dean, his brow furrowed. “You were close to coming thinking about kissing?”

“I guess,” Dean says, because he hadn’t realized it until that moment. “Jesus, that’s kind of embarrassing.” 

Cas manages to grab the lube from where it got shoved under the pillow without breaking eye contact, but then he has to sit back on his heels to slick up his fingers. Dean shivers at the first cool press of Cas’s fingertips against his hole. 

“Do you have condoms?” Cas says. 

Dean points towards the drawer still hanging open in his nightstand. “Thank you,” Cas says, and then lowers himself to kiss Dean again as he works two fingers into him with shallow thrusts. Dean’s nearly trembling by the time Cas’s fingers are deep, twisting. 

Dean whimpers when Cas slides his fingers out, but Cas is quick with the condom and then it’s his cock stretching Dean open. Cas didn’t believe him when Dean said it, but he’s the biggest Dean has ever had, and there’s this intense punch of pleasure when the head of Cas’s cock first pushes into him, every single time. 

Cas nips at Dean’s earlobe, kisses down the side of his neck, all teeth and tongue, as he fills Dean with slow rolls of his hips. “Oh — oh god,” Dean gasps. 

“It was blurry, but do you think it was like this?” Cas whispers against his ear. 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out. “But also you — you choked me.” 

Cas stills. Dean broke a lot of his personal rules with Cas, but he’s not stupid enough to break L&D’s policy against breathplay, even though the way Cas fucks his mouth has gotten pretty close to qualifying a few times. He doesn’t even know if Cas likes it. 

Cas’s voice is rough when he says, “Snap your fingers for red.” 

“Ok — god, you feel good.” 

“Touch yourself,” Cas says, and then kisses him, deep and claiming. 

Dean moans into his mouth, strokes his cock to the languorous rhythm of Cas’s thrusts. He knows Cas can feel him start to tighten around Cas’s cock as the pleasure grows in waves, closer and closer, and then Cas pushes himself up on one arm and closes his other hand over Dean’s mouth and nose. 

Dean’s hand stutters on his cock as his lungs grasp for the last of his oxygen. He can feel Cas watching him even through his closed eyes, he can feel every  _ one-two-three-four  _ gallop of his own heartbeat, he can feel his balls pulling up, tightening, and then his back arches obscenely as he comes, silent under Cas’s hand. 

Cas lets Dean pull in one gasping breath before kissing away his air, grinding deep and groaning through his release. After it shudders through him, he presses his forehead against Dean’s while their chests heave for breath. 

There’s the kind of silence that’s waiting to be filled with words, and Cas asks, “Was it what you fantasized?” 

“Better.”

Cas kisses Dean’s forehead and sits on the edge of the bed to remove the condom. He looks back at Dean and says, “I promise I’m not leaving. I’m going to get some water and start the shower so it’ll be hot when you’re ready. You stay right there.” 

Dean nods sluggishly, too fucked out to even close his legs, still sprawled where Cas took him. 

The shower starts. The kitchen sink runs. Cas is back, handing Dean a glass of water, and Dean drinks obediently. In the shower, he washes Cas and then himself while Cas watches. 

Hair still wet, they crawl back into bed, Cas holding Dean close and touching aimlessly. Dean’s still riding the high of submission, glowing under the approval of his dom. 

“You were so good tonight,” Cas says, squeezing around Dean’s waist. “I know you were embarrassed to share that with me, but you did.” 

Dean squeezes back. “Are you gonna tell me one of your fantasies? I mean. If you think about me at all.”

Cas smiles at him. “Later.” 

The next morning after breakfast, Cas puts Dean over his knee with a vibrating plug in his ass and spanks him until he comes, nearly sobbing with it. 

**Dean:** You don’t want one of my paintings, right? You already have nice stuff   
**Dean:** Jesus forget I asked that, I don’t know why you would 

**Cas:** Where did this line of inquiry come from?   
**Cas:** I would love one, of course, but I don’t want you to feel pressured. 

Dean looks at the canvas in front of him, a huge sweep of blue-black paint waiting to become. 

**Dean:** I’m working on one. I’ll show you when it’s done 

**Cas:** That would make me very happy. 

By two a.m., feathers have started to take shape, emerging like a greyscale figure out of fog. He thinks of  _ David,  _ larger than life. He thinks,  _ I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.  _


	5. DOMINANT WILES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peering close at the canvas, biting his lip in concentration, Dean remembers that Cas used to be a client. It seems fucking ridiculous that Cas used to pay Dean for what he gives eagerly, and now he’s staying up too late to work on a painting so every intricate detail is as perfect as possible with Dean’s level of skill. Which he’s suddenly wishing he had more of, just for this one stupid painting for a dom that used to be a client.

Charlie doesn’t mess around when it comes to parties, and even though everyone grumbles and groans about work events, everyone always shows and has a great time. Except now the casino night crew has packed up, the liquor is still flowing, and Jo, Gabe, and Charlie — each of them terrifying in their own right — have pinned him with their eyes like butterflies to cork. 

“Everyone’s asking about your new dom toy,” Charlie says, waggling her eyebrows. 

“You fuckers need to mind your business,” Dean says. After a gulp of cheap whiskey, he remembers to say, “He’s busy.” 

“I bet we know him and you don’t want us to know who it is,” Jo says.

“Alas, tis not I,” Gabe says. “More likely, the beau doesn’t know about Dean-o’s job.” 

Probably any response would be incriminating, so Dean just rolls his eyes. His phone buzzes in his pocket but he ignores that, because pulling it out to anxiously read whatever Cas may have sent would be some sort of incriminating, too. Still, his fingers twitch around his glass. Ignoring his dom feels  _ wrong,  _ almost disgusting, especially when he realizes Cas must think he disobeyed Cas’s order to text when he makes it home. 

Dean says, “I need to get home. It’s late.” 

“You’re off tomorrow, dumbass,” Jo says. “You can sleep in.” 

“You know it’ll take me an hour to get out of here anyway,” Dean says. 

Luckily it’s only half that time of kissing cheeks and laughing at old jokes before Dean is finally in an Uber and looking at his texts. 

**Cas:** What is your shower routine? Step by step, from when you get in to when you get out. 

Dean’s not sure what to make of this, but then there’s an odd flutter in his stomach as he types. 

**Dean:** Wash my hair first, then put in conditioner. Body wash, then shave, then rinse everything. Sometimes a sugar scrub thing Jo keeps buying me. 

**Cas:** On Thursday you will:   
1\. Shave   
2\. Body   
3\. Scrub   
4\. Hair   
5\. Condition

**Dean:** Ok, I will 

The car pulls to a stop. Dean gives a polite wave to the driver and sends another text before he unlocks his front door. 

**Dean:** I just got home 

**Cas:** Good boy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

There’s this thing Cas does when they’re out in public. When they walk into a new place — restaurants, the art supplies store, a secret swimming hole on the outskirts of the city — Cas rests his hand on the back of Dean’s neck and gives a quick squeeze. Dean and everyone around can see the brief touch for what it is. 

Dean’s not sure if Cas even realizes he’s doing it, but he’s not going to ask, because what if Cas stops doing it once it’s pointed out? 

Dean wasn’t prepared for how it would feel to belong to a dom for real. He didn’t know what it would feel like to have his morning routine disrupted on Thursdays, because he rides the high of it all day, no matter how annoying a client might be. He briefly thought about changing his routine to match all the other days, but that’s not the point. On Thursdays he shaves first, and the rest of the week he shaves fourth. 

He’s on his third try with the painting that must be an angel, though he’s never seen an angel with impossibly huge black wings made of razor-edged feathers. Dean keeps thinking he should just give Cas the one in the guest bedroom, which Cas inexplicably said might be his favorite of Dean’s. 

But he wants to give Cas something special, even if Cas ends up putting it in a rarely-used bathroom just to humour him, so he starts over, and then a second time when the shade of midnight-navy accenting the feathers isn’t quite right. 

Peering close at the canvas, biting his lip in concentration, Dean remembers that Cas used to be a client. It seems fucking ridiculous that Cas used to pay Dean for what he gives eagerly, and now he’s staying up too late to work on a painting so every intricate detail is as perfect as possible with Dean’s level of skill. Which he’s suddenly wishing he had more of, just for this one stupid painting for a dom that used to be a client. 

A handsome, awkward, funny, sweet, smart, and fucking sexy dom that lights Dean up in a way no one has before. The stupid painting should be perfect. 

Dean’s been glued to Charlie’s couch for a few hours with N64 Mario Kart and beer. Charlie keeps trying to use what she calls her  _ dominant wiles  _ to cheat, like putting on a stern voice when she commands him to lose is going to erase a decade’s worth of her being his lesbian best friend and make him suddenly kneel. Or lose at Mario Kart. 

Rainbow Road. Dammit. 

“The guy I’ve been seeing,” Dean starts. 

Charlie’s kart veers into the black as she turns to him so fast her controller tumbles to the floor. “You’re going to tell me about the guy?! Wait, did something happen?” 

“No, it’s — it’s good. But I need you to keep the shrieking at a reasonable volume.” Dean drops his controller on the couch next to him. “He was a client.  _ Was.  _ Hasn’t been for months.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. “If it was someone we know, one of you would’ve cracked by now. And let’s be real, you don’t know anyone I don’t know, so he had to be a client.” 

“Uh,” Dean says. “Somehow it just occurred to me that I am also telling this to my boss. And I kinda broke a pretty big rule.” 

“Whatever, consider this your verbal warning to not take any additional clients home. Now fucking tell me everything.” 

“Castiel Novak,” Dean says. “You said he was dreamy once.” 

Charlie’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, Dean. You took home McDreamy!” 

“I hate you,” Dean says, then looks away. “He didn’t do it on purpose so you better forgive him, but he’s the one who made me drop earlier this year.”

“Ok, you’re now on your second written warning and approaching termination. What the  _ fuck?”  _

“He didn’t know it would happen and neither did I. He feels shitty about it and he’s made up for it, seriously.”

“I’m on a roller coaster of emotions right now, dude. He’s dreamy, yes. He spent a disgusting amount of money to hang out with you. Tell me about him. Is he a good dom? He better be.” 

“Volume, for the love of god.” Dean says. It doesn’t help that she’s somehow ended up right next to him, a little too close. “He’s fucking amazing. He’s — I would’ve paid  _ him  _ to hang out. Not to mention the other stuff.” 

Dean doesn’t mean to tell the story about Cas trying to paint with him, but he can’t help sharing with Charlie anyway. It wasn’t even like a romcom moment where they throw paint at each other and then fuck on the floor. It was just fun, and — in between giggles, because there had been edibles beforehand — Cas kept  _ requesting  _ things to guide what Dean painted. It was a goddamn mess and they titled it “Simon Says.” Cas still has it in his closet, because he wanted it but they agreed the world wasn’t ready for their revolutionary art just yet. 

“Dude,” Charlie says. “He’s totally in love with you.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “There’s no way.” 

His phone buzzes. Charlie doesn’t even complain when he pulls it out. 

**Cas:** Leave the door unlocked, please. 

Dean stops breathing for a few seconds. Suddenly there’s something hot in his gut and he wants to go home immediately, like that will somehow make Cas come over sooner. But he knows Cas will still be out for at least a few hours. 

“There’s way,” Charlie says, nodding sagely. “He just sent you an instruction, I can see it on your gross sappy face.” 

“Whatever,” Dean says, wishing he wasn’t blushing. 

“Jo might kill him.” 

“That’s true of literally every human on the planet, so hopefully it’ll be fine.” Dean picks up his controller and turns back towards the screen. “He hasn’t asked me about being excl —” Dean cuts himself off as he realizes what an absurd thing it is to say. Worse, he realizes it wouldn’t be fair for him to expect exclusivity. 

Before letting Dean leave, Charlie uses her dom voice to demand to meet Cas soon. Dean agrees just to get home and put himself to bed, door unlocked. 

Despite Cas’s care to be quiet, Dean’s mostly awake by the time Cas makes it to the bedroom. Dean doesn’t move or even open his eyes, just listens to the whisper and thump of Cas’s clothes falling to the ground. 

Instead of sliding under the covers, Cas pushes the bedding off of Dean, leaving his skin pebbling in the sudden cool air. The bed shifts with Cas’s weight and he leans over to press a kiss to Dean’s hipbone. “I know you’re awake,” Cas says, hushed. “But don’t say anything.” 

Cas licks and sucks Dean’s cock until he’s straining hard and clenching his fingers in the sheets. Cas reaches to grab a condom without having to look, and before Dean knows what’s happening, Cas straddles his hips and takes him all at once. 

Dean bites his bottom lip to try to stay silent, but a strangled groan escapes it anyway. “Shh, that’s ok,” Cas says, then steals Dean’s breath with kiss after kiss, riding him in slow waves. 

It’s silent except for them. The rustle of the sheets. Their gasps, the little noise Cas makes with each especially good thrust, the slick sound of Dean’s cock in Cas’s ass and his hand stroking Cas between them, the soft  _ oh  _ as Cas marks Dean with his pleasure, Dean getting loud right before he comes, muffled into kisses. 

Cas has the foresight to land on his back when he all but collapses to Dean’s side. He’s clearly not inclined to do much else, so Dean gropes for something to clean them up in the light of his home screen. 

Once they’re settled, Cas wrapped around Dean from behind, Cas kisses the back of Dean’s neck and says, “I drank a lot and didn’t really think I would pull that off.” 

Dean laughs, loud and unabashed, and Cas’s scowl is audible when he says, “I’m too drunk for you to be that loud. Why do you think I asked you to be quiet?” 

Dean presses his face into the pillow, still laughing. He thinks this is the first time Cas has revealed what’s behind the curtain of his public dominant presentation, and wonders how many other times Cas has been unsure but covered it up.

“Sorry,” Dean stage whispers. “I dunno what you were trying to pull off, but that was awesome.” 

“Good. Go to sleep.” 

Cas smashes his face against Dean’s neck and promptly starts snoring, leaving Dean smiling in the dark.

Dean wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn, against his own wishes, and lays without moving for a long time, Cas a warm, heavy weight draped over his chest.  _ Dude, he’s totally in love with you,  _ Charlie’s voice repeats in Dean’s head. 

Cas sleeps like the dead, so he doesn’t wake as Dean climbs out from under his arms. He doesn’t wake when Dean showers, or when the smell of brewing coffee fills the apartment, or when Dean crawls back into bed with a book on his phone. Cas doesn’t open his eyes, but he does fling his arm around Dean’s middle and tug him close before going lax again. 

Cas doesn’t stir until breakfast turns to brunch, and then he mumbles, morning rough, “I don’t know if this is heaven or hell. I’m apparently in your bed, but my skull is being drilled into by a surgeon from Dr. Sexy. An especially bad one.” 

Dean laughs and twists to give Cas a quick kiss. “There’s already water and Aleve on the table, and I’m going to go start food. Do you want to eat in bed?” 

Cas sits up, his hair flat on one side and a whirlwind on the other. His grumpy morning face, like his entire day has been ruined by having to get up, is the most adorable thing Dean has ever seen. “There aren’t really a lot of breakfast foods that are bed-safe. I can sit up at a table to eat breakfast, I promise.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, because he knows Cas feels too shitty to do anything about it at that moment. In response to Cas’s glare, Dean gives him a cheeky grin and leaves for the kitchen. 

Cas is in the shower for a long time, so a pile of pancakes is already forming on the counter by the time he joins Dean in the kitchen, dressed in the clothes from the night before. “Dude, you can borrow something to wear. Unless you’re — uh, leaving. Right now.” 

Dean pours Cas’s coffee, and Cas takes the mug greedily from him. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says after the first sip. “I shouldn’t have imposed myself on you.” 

Dean looks over at Cas and fumbles a pancake flip. “Do I seem upset?” 

Cas takes a step closer and tugs Dean into a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. “No, but that doesn’t mean I should assume that your time belongs to me.” 

“I, uh —” It comes out a little uneven, but Dean hopes it’s covered up by the crack of an egg into the pan. “I wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“Oh,” Cas says, and he sounds so small, and Dean did that, made his dom feel small, and fuck it if the eggs burn, Dean goes to his knees and looks up at Cas. 

“I know I don’t have any right to ask you not to see anyone else,” Dean says. “But I — I want that. I want you to have everything. If you wanted.” 

“I don’t want to see anyone else, but are you saying —” Cas lets out a slow breath, looking away, probably at the burning eggs. “I didn’t want to push my luck by saying anything. You’re so —” Cas groans and rubs a hand over his face. “I’m having trouble making sentences with you down there like that.” 

“Would you like me to get up?” 

“Yes,” Cas says. Dean stands, and Cas pulls him into a kiss, soft and full. When he pulls back, he gives Dean a sweet smile, then takes a half-step back and smacks Dean across the face. “That’s for calling me ‘sir.’” 

“You’re the only dom I know who doesn’t like honorifics. But uh, if we’re together, did you want…?” 

“In a romantic relationship, I think it’s even more important for us to address each other as equals.” 

Dean doesn’t know why this makes him blush. He deals with the eggs instead of looking at Cas. “Yeah. I know what you mean. My dad was a ‘master.’” Before Cas can say whatever empathetic or pitying thing people do when they get an inkling of Johnny W.’s character, Dean says, “I’m not going to stop working.” 

“I know you’re not, but that’s not the same as fucking or dating someone else.” 

“I should tell you that I haven’t ever been with a dom before. In a relationship, I mean.” 

Cas blinks. “You’ve been with subs?” 

Dean’s used to this, too, though he thought Cas already knew. “Yeah. And somehow a couple null chicks in a row, though I think one of them might have come out as a dom a bit ago.” 

“I didn’t realize that,” Cas says, looking thoughtful. 

“That’s how I met Stiles, actually. Sometimes we had to see doms, and he used to work at L&D.” Dean loads up two plates, grabs silverware, and leads Cas to the table by the smell of food. “We’ve never fucked, you know. Completely innocent shenanigans.” 

Cas snorts around a bite of pancake drenched in syrup. Dean files this away for next time: Cas likes an obscene amount of syrup on his pancakes. They’re quiet for a minute, mostly because Cas is shoveling food in his mouth like it’s going out of style. People have commented on Dean’s habit of wolfing down food — otherwise it might disappear — but hungover Cas eats like he’s feeding a horde of tapeworms. 

“I’ve been a spineless idiot,” Dean says, “that I put off telling Charlie and the gang because I knew they would be pissed about you being a former client.” 

Cas squints. “Were you waiting for me to prove myself until telling her?” 

“Prove yourself of what? I mean, I did kinda think — that if you stuck around a bit and we did stuff other than the shit you used to pay me for, maybe she wouldn’t freak out so much. For the record, it worked.” 

“You talked about me last night?” 

Dean blushes so hot that he’s embarrassed of his embarrassment. “I talk about you too much. I just hadn’t told her the former client part. But she was cool, as long as she gets to meet you in the near future.” 

“I’ve decided this is heaven,” Cas says, stabbing the last bite of pancake off Dean’s plate. 

Dean’s not sure if he expected things to somehow feel different just because they’d acknowledged what they’ve been doing out loud, but they mostly don’t. Except Cas, who is bolder where he held back before. 

**Cas:** Are you at home?    
**Cas:** Alone? 

**Dean:** Yup. What’s up? 

Two minutes later, Cas is walking through Dean’s front door, because he knows Dean almost never locks it during the day. 

“Get on your knees.” 

“Uh.” Dean is looking his most unattractive, vegged out on the couch in a t-shirt with more holes than he’d like to admit and these stupid unicorn sleep pants that were once Charlie’s. Probably covered in crumbs, too, from the sandwich he just had for lunch. 

Finally his brain catches up, and Cas is giving him an expectant look like he’ll be very disappointed if Dean can’t follow a simple instruction. 

Dean thumps to the floor, and Cas gives him a nod of approval. “Open your mouth.” 

Dean’s mouth falls open, and he realizes Cas is already hard in his jeans. Cas only unzips as much as necessary to get his cock out, and then he guides it past Dean’s lips. In, in, in, choke. Cas pulls back far enough for Dean to swallow and grab a breath, then grips Dean’s hair tight in his hands. In, in, in, all-consuming, Dean’s jaw already aching from the size of him,  _ pop  _ as the head of Cas’s cock pushes into his throat. 

Cas groans above him, holding Dean into place with his big, lovely hands and grinding into his mouth, like he thinks Dean can take more. He pinches Dean’s nose shut, thrusting into his mouth,  _ choke, choke,  _ and distantly Dean can feel the throbbing steel of his own cock, can hear the wet sounds of his gagging. Cas is his focus. Cas is everything. 

Apparently Dean  _ can  _ take more, because Cas shoves deeper —  _ there you go, sweetheart, just a little more  _ — deeper, and then chokes Dean with his come. Swallow, swallow, and then Cas pulls out, leaving Dean to lean his head against Cas’s thigh as he fights for ragged breaths. 

Cas’s hands gentle in Dean’s hair, almost petting for a moment, and then he jerks so Dean’s face is tilted up to him like waiting for benediction. Cas leans down to give Dean a quiet kiss and says, “I’ll see you tonight?” 

Dean nods as much as he can in Cas’s grip, throat raw. 

“I’m going back to work. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.” Cas tilts his head to look at the obscene tent of Dean’s cock under pink unicorns while he tucks himself back into his jeans. “Nice pants. Don’t touch yourself.” 

“Have —” Dean coughs away the croak. “Have a good day.” 

Cas leans down for another kiss, and stays leaning so he can inspect Dean’s eyes from up close. “Will you be ok?” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, honey, I’ll be fine.” 

Cas rolls his eyes right back, but there’s a smile ticking on his mouth. “To reiterate: Don’t touch yourself. Goodbye.” 

Even after Cas is gone, Dean stays on his knees long enough that his legs are a little numb when he gets up, glad there’s no one to see his dopey smile. 


	6. NINE DAYS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the breakup with Lisa, Charlie scolded Dean for being shitty at communicating in personal relationships. _You’ve literally had training on how to communicate openly about scenes, dumbass. How is this any different?_

**Cas:** I have a request. 

This is what Cas says when he doesn’t want Dean to feel obligated just because Cas is his dom. When he wants something, but is worried he’s overstepping.  _ Worried,  _ like he could ask anything of Dean he wouldn’t want to give. 

Dean waits, but another text doesn’t come. 

**Dean:** What can I do for you? 

**Cas:** For the next 9 days, I want you to tell me every time you come, alone or with clients. I would prefer more details when you’re alone, but I understand if you don’t want to say anything specific about clients. 

Dean stares at the words, something trembling in his stomach that might be excitement or fear or both. 

After the breakup with Lisa, Charlie scolded Dean for being shitty at communicating in personal relationships.  _ You’ve literally had training on how to communicate openly about scenes, dumbass. How is this any different?  _

Dean pushes the call button. It’s just negotiating a scene. Except with feelings. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, a smile in his voice. “Is this a social call or about my request?” 

“Hey, I only have a couple minutes before my next client shows. It’s ok, I just — why?” 

“Knowing about your pleasure makes me happy,” Cas says. “I wish my job involved more orgasms.” 

Dean laughs. “I could come visit.” 

“I think that may be frowned upon in my office.” 

“Shit, I gotta go. Talk to you later, baby.” 

It’s Aaron, which means an hour later, Dean is flopped against the pillows on his work bed and texting Cas.

**Dean:** He gagged me and used that electric toy while he fucked me. Gags and zapping aren’t always my thing, but he’s half as good as you are with his dick, which is leagues above most of my other male clients

He doesn’t get a chance to check his phone for a few more hours and is itching for Cas’s response, itching to fulfill his end of the deal. 

The only notification is a privacy policy update email from some random service he doesn’t use anymore. It’s Spotify this time. 

**Dean:** They made me eat them out for half an hour and then allowed me to make myself come

**Cas:** Good. 

He doesn’t acknowledge these texts after that. There are other conversations around them. But Dean is still shaving first on Thursday mornings, and now he continues reporting. 

**Dean:** I’m running a little behind - do NOT get out of your car until I get there 

**Cas:** Hmm. 

Of course Cas’s car is empty when Dean makes it to the Hideout. Dean braces himself as he walks to their usual table on the patio. His friends are so chronically late that he had a sliver of hope that he’d beat them all, but Charlie is already there with Cas. They’re both laughing, but Cas’s laugh turns into a beaming smile when he catches sight of Dean. 

Charlie looks over her shoulder and says, “And he doth appear.” 

“Hey, Red,” Dean says, tugging her hair and then giving Cas a quick kiss. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. “We were just discussing —” 

“Zip it,” Charlie interrupts, then gives Dean an innocent smile. 

“I don’t like this,” Dean says, gesturing between them. “I’m getting a drink.” 

The place isn’t too busy, but the tender is in the middle of serving a couple of guys in business casual when Dean reaches the bar. Dean drums his fingers on the smooth wood, trying to think of how many incriminating things Charlie might have told Cas. 

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice a woman coming to stand beside him. “Say hello, sweetheart.” 

Red dress, red nails with splashes of black, eyes so dark her dom mark is barely visible. Dean blinks, momentarily speechless, then opens his mouth to tell her to go fuck herself — 

“Hello,” Cas says evenly as he comes up from behind Dean, brushing his hand along the nape of Dean’s neck and giving the other dom a questioning look. 

“Put a collar on him, asshole,” Red Dress says, addressing Cas, and then turns and saunters back to a table of laughing friends. 

Dean looks over at Cas with a grin. “Impeccable timing.” 

“Yes, it was,” he says, eyes lingering on her. Dean can’t read the expression on his face. “I didn’t know anyone even tried to pick people up in bars anymore.”

“I guess no one told her about Tinder.” 

Cas finally looks at Dean, with a smile. The bartender heads over, and Cas orders a Bulleit for Dean and another round of beers for him and Charlie. “I really like Charlie,” he says. “I hope I meet her approval.” 

“You meet mine,” Dean says. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“If I’m going to be in your life, then I need the people who love you to at least tolerate me.” 

It’s a good thing they arrive back at the table a beat later, because Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that — he doesn’t even have time to completely unpack it. And then Jo’s there, and then Benny and Andrea, and Jo’s filling Cas in on all the tales of their childhood he’d rather Cas not hear.

“And this asshole says,” she says, gesturing towards Dean. “‘What was I supposed to do with that cat, Sammy?’”

“What, did you want me to burn it? The smell alone, Jesus.” At Cas’s look of alarm, Dean hurries to say, “The cat was dead at the time.” 

“Ah, of course,” Cas says. 

“Ok, in his defense,” Jo says, in an abrupt deviation from her normal shit-talking about Dean. “I bet he didn’t tell you about the time I took the fall for him because his dumb ass thought he could hide a litter of abandoned kittens in his bedroom.” 

Cas’s eyes snap from Jo to Dean. “Dean failed to mention that you’re siblings.” 

“Well, not technically,” Dean says. “We just — stayed with the Singers a lot. Dad was — flighty.” 

“Hey, Cas,” Charlie redirects, because she’s worthy of the title of queen. “I can’t believe we were talking about cats, and I didn’t ask how it’s even  _ possible  _ that you don’t have a house full of kittens and puppies.” 

“I’m lucky, I suppose, that I can do the majority of my work remotely. When I do have to go in, it’s especially difficult not to take home a car-full of cats. I have a habit of falling in love with the mean ones.” 

“Me too,” Charlie says, nodding towards Jo. Instead of snapping, Jo’s smile goes briefly soft, and somehow Dean can  _ see  _ the moment she offers her submission, even though nothing changes in her face. Something in her eyes, maybe. 

Cas being a former client is never brought up, but it’s probably only because Benny and Andrea aren’t from the industry, and sometimes non-industry people get weird if details are mentioned. Dean’s sure Jo and Charlie will give Cas the third degree on that topic next time. 

Cas only orders Dean the one whiskey and then switches to beer, so Dean’s still good to drive when the group splits. Cas declines to follow to Dean’s because  _ kittens need to be saved via code, Dean,  _ but he presses him up against the Impala and kisses him in a way that is entirely indecent. It’s good the Hideout’s parking lot is dimly lit and Dean is parked near the back, because Cas kisses him so good Dean’s throbbing hard when Cas steps back.

“Goodnight, darling,” Cas says. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me? We can be fast.” 

“Don’t question me,” Cas says, then repeats firmly, “Goodnight.” 

Dean groans. “Fine. Goodnight, baby.” 

Later, Dean texts Cas, spread out on the bed and still damp from the shower. 

**Dean:** I came in the shower thinking about the last time you paddled me 

He doesn’t expect a response, so he turns off the light and dreams about all the other ways Cas could have laid a claim on him in front of the asshole dom from the bar. 

Cas shows up unexpectedly while Dean is glaring at the outline of his fourth attempt at the angel painting, graphite smeared all over his fingers. The door is unlocked and music is playing so Dean doesn’t know Cas is there until he’s standing in the doorway of Dean’s art room. 

Dean flushes hot all the way to the tips of his ears, glad the canvas is facing away from the door and the other attempts are backwards against the wall so Cas can’t see his failures. “Hey,” Dean says. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I missed you. Can I see what you’re working on?”

Dean drops the pencil on the floor in his haste to get to Cas and crowd him out of the room. Shut the door safely. The angels aren’t the only half-finished paintings he’s not ready for Cas to see. “Not yet.” 

“I hoped you would be less secretive about your art now that I’m your boyfriend, but clearly I was wrong.” Cas is smiling, and he reels Dean in for a kiss, and then another. “I had a long day. I want to feed my sub so I can beat him later. What would you like for dinner?” 

Dean swallows. “Burgers are always good?” 

“Did you see Bela today?” Cas asks as they settle on the couch with post-date drinks. 

“Uh. Yeah, most Tuesdays, but — how do you know that?” 

Cas takes a sip of his bourbon, not taking his eyes off Dean. “Did you forget to text me?” 

“Are you having a stroke? We texted —” Dean pauses. “Oh, are you talking about — yesterday was nine days. Shit, wasn’t it? I swear I double-checked.” 

A slow smile spreads across Cas’s mouth. “I wasn’t counting, so I assume you’re correct.” 

“You never replied to the texts,” Dean says, trying his damnedest not to pout. 

“I need you to know that you make me very happy,” Cas says, then leans over to kiss Dean, careful and whiskey-dark. “When I was just paying to spend time with you a few hours a week, I would try to imagine what it would be like to be your dom for real, but I couldn’t imagine anything this good. I couldn’t imagine how good  _ you  _ are.” 

Dean ducks his head, cheeks hot with the thrill of pleasing Cas. 

“I may not have replied, but you made me happy. I would like you to continue.” 

“To play catch-up, Bela comes on Tuesdays, and Lydia dropped by, so that’s two for today.” This is the first time Dean’s told Cas to his face, and he expects… something, but there’s not even a flash of heat in his eyes. “Why? Are you getting off on this?” 

Cas tilts his head, looking somewhere past Dean’s shoulder. “The idea of the acts themselves? No. If you were a mechanic, I might ask you to report oil changes. But I also like knowing all the times you feel good throughout the day.”

“I think I landed the dorkiest dom on the planet,” Dean says, grinning. He didn’t realize he cared about the answer, but now he feels a little relieved Cas isn’t hot and bothered thinking about Dean and other doms. It’s stupid that he wants Cas to be ok with his job, but not  _ into  _ it. 

Cas takes Dean’s drink from his hand and sets both glasses on the side table. Dean waits, because Cas doesn’t like to be rushed, and Cas doesn’t disappoint when he slides a hand into Dean’s hair and jerks him in for a thorough, hot kiss. 

“I was promised a beating,” Dean murmurs.

“Yes, you were. Go choose, please.” 

Dean goes into his closet and pokes around in his toy box, but meets Cas next to his bed empty-handed. “I don’t want anything in there,” Dean says in response to Cas’s raised eyebrow. “I want —” Dean’s hands go to Cas’s belt buckle, and Cas just watches as Dean slithers it from around his waist. 

“Excellent,” Cas says with a smile. He takes the belt out of Dean’s hands, tests the snap of it. “Take off your clothes.” 

Dean undresses in a clumsy rush, scowling when Cas laughs. “My hot dom is about to make my dreams come true. Forgive me for rushing a little.” 

“I forgive you,” Cas says, grabbing Dean for a smiling kiss before pushing him “On your stomach.” 

Dean crawls into bed, head turned to watch Cas undress, weirdly deliberate about it as always, leaving a folded stack next to the nightstand. Sloppily folded, but there’s some sort of effort. Dean likes that about him, that his chaos is a bit organized, or his organized is a lot chaotic, like a funnel turning into a tornado. 

“I no longer give a fuck about marks,” Dean says. “Work isn’t taking that from me.” 

Cas raises an eyebrow and says, “Interesting.” 

He circles around to Dean’s blind side, like Dean expected, so the first hit is a shock of fire, making him gasp and jerk to the side. Cas makes a disapproving noise and Dean focuses on keeping himself still for the next few. 

Chaos organized. Dean can’t identify the pattern through the haze of pleasure-pain, but he knows there is one in the way Cas whips over the curve of his ass and the back of his thighs. 

When Cas pauses, Dean realizes how hot and tender his skin feels, swollen stripes that will darken by morning. He’s sweating and trembling and so hard he would die for just a touch. The end of the belt tickles down Dean’s spine. 

“Open your legs,” Cas says. 

Dean does as he’s told and then Cas’s hands, cool in comparison to his heated skin, spread his cheeks. The pad of Cas’s thumb brushes across his hole. “May I get something from your toy box?” 

“Sure,” Dean says, half a question. He turns his head a little to try to see what Cas is up to, but not so much as to feel like he’s actually moved. He can’t see anything anyway. 

“How do you feel?” Cas asks once he’s returned.

“I feel good, baby.” 

Cas spreads him again and manages three sharp spanks to Dean’s hole before Dean jerks away. “Tsk, tsk,” Cas says. 

Dean laughs, more out of delicious anticipation than anything, and clenches his hands in the blanket. Cas is good with the crop, hits Dean’s hole with the whip of leather just enough to make him throbbing and sensitive. 

Cas opens the drawer in the nightstand, and Dean props himself up on an elbow for a kiss, almost asking if he can suck Cas’s cock for a minute first, because it feels so good in his mouth and he hasn’t touched Cas at all yet. But he doesn’t ask, just lays back down and listens to the ritual of condom and lube. Cas rubs some over Dean’s hole, and then he’s starting to sink in. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean gasps as the head of Cas’s cock pushes into him. It hurts, it hurts, and Dean arches his back to try to take more, trying to ride against the bed again. 

Cas stops him with a hand on Dean’s lower back. Instead he takes his time, the shallowest of thrusts gradually becoming deeper, until his hips are finally flush with Dean’s. He leans down, nuzzling into Dean’s hair and whispering, “Does that feel good?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean repeats, trying to arch his back, like Cas could get any deeper. 

“Good boy,” Cas says, drawing his hips back so slow that Dean  _ feels  _ every inch of him, the thick veins running underneath and around his cock, and Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever breathe again, and then Cas slams back down so hard that it shoves Dean up the bed. The welts rising across Dean’s ass and thighs scream.

Dean cries out, canting up his hips to meet Cas’s thrusts. “No,” Cas says, then sits back to press one hand flat on Dean’s lower back and the other on his head, holding him down while Cas pounds into him. 

Dean groans and comes out of nowhere. Or maybe out of everywhere, because he’s been riding the edge of  _ too much too much  _ for what seems like forever. He’s loud, and his cock slips through the mess between him and the sheets as Cas fucks him. 

“Dean,” Cas gasps. He doesn’t let up even after he’s filled the condom, and Dean’s sobbing through the pain and oversensitivity as Cas’s thrusts slow before he pulls out. 

Dean can’t breathe and doesn’t want to ever again, his entire body buzzing and high. He watches, silent and still, as Cas gets rid of the condom and lays next to him. Cas strokes his fingers through Dean’s hair and murmurs, “All right?” 

Dean nods, a little sluggish against the pillow. 

“I need words, please,” Cas says. 

“Green,” Dean says, voice rasping. 

Cas smiles and says, “You are so gorgeous and so, so good.” 

Dean flushes and dodges his eyes away. 

“Say it. Tell me something good you’ve done recently.” 

“Uh.” Dean bites his lip, then looks back up at Cas’s eyes, so bright in the golden light. “I knew it had been nine days, even though you didn’t.” 

Cas kisses him, and Dean finally turns on his side to get closer. He’s gross but doesn’t care when Cas tugs at him, pulling Dean’s knee over his thigh. “I trust you,” Cas says, close and quiet. “Just like Thursdays. I noticed you still do it.” 

“Well. Yeah. You didn’t tell me to stop.”

Cas smiles and just looks at Dean for a long time, like slowly taking in every inch of his face, and then says, “I’m in love with you.” 

Dean’s heart and breath and probably thyroid function freeze temporarily, long enough that Cas says, “There’s no expectation, of course. I suppose I just thought —” 

“Me too,” Dean says. “I love you too.” 

Cas tries to kiss Dean while he’s smiling, and it only half works, but it could also be the best kiss Dean has ever had.


	7. DIME A DOZEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas:** You make me feel powerful.

Dean thinks he’s figured the feathers out. The right mix of midnight over space-black, the right sweep of his wrist, chipping away at marble until the angel is shaped into life. 

He doesn’t notice the time passing, the repeat of his playlist more than once, painting in some sort of exhausted fugue state. 

It’s 3:37 in the morning and the first wing is finished. Dean blinks, bleary, and knows he’s going to hate himself when he has to get up in a few hours. There’s a text from Jo that Dean ignores, going straight for Cas’s. 

**Cas:** Hello, beautiful. How was your day? 

An hour later:

**Cas:** Do you know that I saw April at first? 4 times. The last time, I happened to see you in the lobby. I saw your smile and I had to have you. Apparently you were very busy because the soonest I could see you was 3 weeks later. Do you remember? 

Half an hour later:

**Cas:** I was so nervous that I hardly slept the night before. It was ridiculous. You were providing a service, and all I knew about you was that fraction of a second and what was on the L&D site. It says you’re “feisty” which hardly begins to describe your brand of misbehavior. 

After a few minutes:

**Cas:** I wasn’t allowed to kiss you, but I felt so lucky when you laid with me afterwards and talked. I don’t even remember what we talked about, but I had to have more of you.    
**Cas:** Do you remember the first time you kissed me?

A couple hours later: 

**Cas:** I’m sorry for how sappy I sound. But I guess I really was, and still am, a love sick puppy. You let me use you however I wanted, and I knew we did things that you don’t do with anyone else. I’ve never received a bigger gift. 

Just before midnight: 

**Cas:** You make me feel powerful. 

1:48 a.m.:

**Cas:** I’m sorry. I should’ve told you that I’m very very stoned before I started sending those messages. Meg decided to visit and failed to warn me.   
**Cas:** She’s a horrible influence, if I haven’t mentioned.

Dean stares. Meg, who was Cas’s submissive until she moved to Dallas. They were exclusive when it came to their dom/sub relationship, but Cas said there was nothing else except friendship. 

Still, Dean imagines a beautiful woman — the face is hazy, but she has long chocolate colored hair that Cas could wrap around his fist — kneeling at Cas’s feet. It would be impossible for her not to, because Cas’s quiet dominance can’t be ignored. She’s felt his touch before, she knows what it feels like to please him, how addictive his smile is, and she’ll give herself to him in the space of a heartbeat, Dean is sure. 

**Dean:** How long is Meg planning to stay? 

He doesn’t get an answer until he’s setting up for his first appointment of the day. 

**Cas:** Just a couple of days. I want you to meet her, if you’re ok with it. 

**Dean:** I haven’t gotten high in forever. Does she have enough to share? 

**Cas:** Yes. Tonight? 

**Dean:** I can be there around 8. 

**Cas:** Perfect. Have a wonderful day, sweetheart. :)    
**Cas:** And I hope you can “flashy thingy” away all my texts last night.

Dean’s heart falls a little.

**Dean:** I have to say you’re surprisingly coherent when high. It’s struck from the record though   
**Dean:** Client’s here. See you later 

Crowley is the last appointment of the day and he’s in a mood. Dean hates it when he’s like this. Not that he’s cruel to Dean, because he still makes Dean feel so good he has to give himself a 30 minute break afterwards to come down — Crowley’s anger just radiates from him and it’s a constant distraction. 

Crowley doesn’t stick around, which is fine, and Dean rushes through a shower, makes a quick stop at CVS for snacks, and knocks on Cas’s door and then lets himself in at 7:50. 

Cas jumps up to greet him, giving him a long, sweet kiss just out of sight of the living room, Dean still holding bags of food in each hand. 

“You better not be doing something inappropriate back there,” Meg yells. 

Cas rolls his eyes and leads Dean back into the living room. A woman stands from the couch on the side where Dean usually sits. “Dean, this is Meg,” Cas says. “Meg, Dean.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Meg says, shaking Dean’s hand with a firm grip. She’s tiny with dark curls, beautiful but not at all like Dean imagined. 

“Yeah, same,” Dean says. Meg takes the chair, leaving Dean’s seat open. 

Cas hands Dean a joint, and Meg says, “I didn’t think anyone in your position actually takes home a customer.” 

“That cliche is my cross to bear,” Cas says, and they all laugh, because Dean’s a lightweight and the single hit is already starting to settle in. 

“It’s generally frowned upon,” Dean says. “If my best friend didn’t run the place, I wouldn’t have a job anymore.” 

“Cheers to best friends,” Meg says, toasting towards them with an empty beer bottle. 

They break out the snacks. Meg is sharp around the edges, but Dean grew up with Singer women, so he handles her just fine. And then, two beers later, Dean looks over and Cas is still on the other side of the couch, Dean suddenly feels like he’s going to puke, and he fumbles out a  _ be right back  _ before disappearing and shutting himself in Cas’s bathroom. 

It’s only moments later when he hears a soft, “Dean?” 

“Yeah, come in,” Dean says. 

He looks at the floor as the door creaks open and then clicks closed, his hand clenching at the edge of the countertop. He remembers now why he gives himself half an hour to come down after seeing Crowley. He needs time to remember how to breathe. 

“Can I touch you?” Cas says. 

“Why are you asking?” 

Cas gives him an unimpressed glare, then steps close and wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, hugging him close. “I’m sorry. I had planned on the rest of the weekend with just us, but —” Cas sighs, presses his face into Dean’s neck. “Meg and I don’t see each other very often and she’s my closest friend, other than you.” 

“Babe, I get it. I’m not mad.” 

“You’re upset, though,” Cas says, pulling back to look at Dean for a long moment, hand cupping his jaw. “On your knees.” 

Dean goes down without a thought, something warm seeping into him at the sureness of Cas’s command, like he can’t imagine Dean refusing. Cas strokes his hair and says, quietly, “Please tell me what happened.”

“I had this client tonight —” At the expression storming across Cas’s face, Dean hurries to say, “He didn’t hurt me. It was just —it was a lot.” 

“And then you rushed right here,” Cas says, nodding. “Ok. Get back up, please. I told Meg we might be a few minutes.” 

Cas leads Dean back into the bedroom and they both lay down, Dean wrapped up in Cas’s arms. Cas kisses his forehead and says, “Would you even tell me if he had hurt you?” 

Dean pauses. “Yeah, I would. But it wasn’t that. I just — should’ve calmed down before I came over here.” 

“Ok,” Cas says, “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to tell Meg that you’re such a lightweight that you’re already too high, so we’re going to bed early. I’ll bring the Kit Kats back with me, and you’ll be naked when I get back.” 

“Cas, I don’t want to ruin your night with Meg.” 

“You’re far more important than she is.” Cas pulls his arm out from under Dean and says, “Don’t forget — take off your clothes.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but thanks to the weed, he really had forgotten. When Cas walks out, Dean wiggles out of his clothes without getting out of bed, then just waits, curled up around one of Cas’s pillows. 

The door  _ snicks  _ closed and a bag of candy drops on the bed next to Dean. He breathes — Lisa taught him this stupid mindful breathing thing to help work through pain so intense and wonderful that he didn’t think he could take it — while he listens to Cas undress and toss his clothes in the hamper. 

“Would you prefer being under the covers?” Cas asks. 

“Good idea,” Dean says, and he and Cas giggle their way through Dean flailing under the blanket and Cas climbing in next to him. 

Dean kisses Cas, a question in his parted lips, and he’s a little disappointed when Cas breaks away to just look at him. “You are so beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe you picked me.” 

Dean scoffs a little. “Guy like you, cute subs are a dime a dozen.” 

Cas pinches Dean’s hip hard and says, without leaving any room for disobedience, “Tell me something good you did recently.” 

Dean wants to say,  _ My painting for you.  _ He finally figured out what was making him start over, and over — the feathers weren’t sharp enough. His angel isn’t a fluffy duckling dyed blue. His angel is made of weapons, wings made up of razor edges glinting in the moonlight. 

“I had a client yesterday that was very — she’d been alone for a long time,” Dean says. “But I got her to smile.” 

“You tend to have that effect on people,” Cas says, “which is part of why you aren’t a dime a dozen.” Almost hesitantly, Cas asks, “Do you remember the first time we kissed?” 

Dean nods. They’d been fucking, deep and slow, both of them still high from the paddling Dean just received, Cas leaving kisses along the hinge of Dean’s jaw and the curve of his neck, and for a moment it was  _ just Cas  _ he was with, and Dean whispered,  _ Please kiss me?  _ and Cas kissed him like a thunderstorm rolling slowly across the horizon. Dean didn’t think of anything else in the week before he saw Cas again. 

“That was the first time we fucked that way,” Dean says. “Like — no sprinkles. Just you and me.” 

“I made a mistake bringing this up, because now I really want to fuck you, whatever flavors or sprinkles you want,” Cas says. “However, I’m not giving Meg the pleasure of hearing it.” 

“You know some of my friends have seen us having sex, right? The cameras aren’t hidden.” 

Cas winces. “I thought that might be the case, but decided not to think about it too hard for my own mental wellness.” 

“It’s not like they sit around with popcorn, but they’ve definitely seen your dick.” 

Cas puts his hand over Dean’s mouth, and Dean tries to tamp down his grin but the lines around his eyes probably give him away. “You no longer get to choose the flavor or toppings. I want strawberry, which means that once Meg is gone, I want you to fuck yourself on my cock.” 

Dean nods and Cas removes his hand. “I’ll kick Meg out right now, if you want. I’m a great bouncer.” 

Cas arches an eyebrow. “Desperate, are you?” 

“Apparently,” Dean says, grinning. 

“I’ll try to get her out of the house for a few hours tomorrow. Or,” Cas says, tilting his head. “I’ve never gagged you before.” 

Dean’s breath catches, and Cas’s smile turns a little predatory. “Not tonight,” Cas says. “But I do have a gag, in case you don’t.” 

“Baby, I have everything.”

“That’s because you’re perfect,” Cas says, smiling. 

Dean’s head is in Cas’s lap on the couch and he’s half-asleep, comforted by the throb of rising bruises over his ass and thighs. He can only feel the fingerprints on his neck if he presses on them, but he knows they’re there. He’s sleepy-sated and in love. 

Dean’s phone starts buzzing on the side table and Cas hands it over. His phone reads  _ Stiles God Of Doms,  _ which is, of course, Stiles’s fault. 

“Hey,” Dean says, flipping to speaker. 

“Did I wake you up? Should I sign you up for AARP?” 

“Fuck you,” Dean says, without heat. “I’m awake. What’s up?” 

“It’s been fucking forever, but Ruby’s looking for an appointment. You up for it?” 

Dean groans. Switches make for exhausting customers. “Sure, why not.” 

“Good, because Charlie’s already scheduled it for next Thursday morn,” Stiles says. Dean can hear the grin in his voice — he doesn’t have any problem with switches, and they always have fun working together. 

“Derek’s cool with it?” 

“Dude, Derek has way less control over me than he’d like,” Stiles says, laughing now. It’s smooth like the scotch color of his eyes, and Dean feels Cas’s hand clench in his hair. “What’s up with you? How’s your dreamy dom?” 

Dean blushes and doesn’t look up at Cas. “Well, he’s right here. So things are good.” 

“Awesome. It’s been a long time since someone took care of you.” 

“I’ll let him know you approve.” 

“Stop talking to me and blow him or something,” Stiles says. “Better yet, put me on speaker and I’ll tell him to blow you.” 

Dean snorts. “You’re already on speaker, and I think we’re both still recovering from earlier blowing. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Bye, sweet’ms.”

Stiles hangs up before Dean can ask him what the hell that’s about. Cas is back to stroking Dean’s hair, but he feels a little tense. 

“Work,” Dean says. “Ruby’s a switch, me and Stiles were always her go-to. She must’ve got a partner for awhile because she hasn’t been to L&D in ages.” Dean stares up at Cas, the thinning line of his mouth. “Are you — jealous?” 

Cas lets out a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I just had a moment. I think — because you have submitted to him outside of work.” 

“Him and his partner are disgustingly into each other. I promise he’s not trying to steal me.” 

“He couldn’t even if he tried.” 

Dean laughs and grabs Cas’s hand, pulling it towards him to kiss along his knuckles. “Exactly. He’s scrappy, but you get that look on your face and anyone would run for the hills.” 

“Which look?” 

“You know which one,” Dean says, then parts his lips for Cas’s fingers, pushing just deep enough to feel the wet of his tongue and then retreating. “You did it earlier.”

“Ah,” Cas says, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “That one.” He pushes his fingers into Dean’s mouth again, then withdraws to trail down his chin, and then throat, before wrapping his hand around Dean’s neck. His fingers are laid over the tender places from earlier, and even though he doesn’t squeeze, Dean’s heart stutters all the same, wishing he would. 

Cas is looking at his hand around Dean’s throat when he says, “Let’s go to bed.” 


	8. DOUBLE JEOPARDY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel has been chiseled free and stands defiant in dark paint, a warrior hiding a gentle soul behind razor-edged feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the effervescent [all-or-nothing-baby](http://all-or-nothing-baby.tumblr.com) has made [beautiful art](https://sharkfish.tumblr.com/post/641945508940808193/i-am-honestly-speechless-i-will-never-recover) of dean's painting, included at the end of the chapter. please give them some love!

The last four hours of Dean’s shift are blocked off for a new client. That’s either awesome or shitty, no inbetween. After reviewing the client’s profile again, he decides it’s going to be pretty shitty. It’s going to be rough and exhausting and Dean might end up popping ibuprofen like candy the next couple of days, when all he really wants is to make Cas dinner and make him smile. 

Usually he goes up to the front to greet clients when they arrive, but there’s a knock on his door at 1:18. Dean takes a deep breath and puts on a smile. “Hey, I’m Dean —” his spiel cuts off because it’s Cas. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?” Dean says in a rush. 

“Nothing, nothing.” Cas says, holding up his hands like surrendering. “I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Baby, I’m sorry, but a client —” 

“I’m your client today, so let me in.” 

“What?” Dean says, stepping back for Cas to come through the door on impulse. “Why?” 

“We could both use a break. I’m taking a long weekend to spend with you.” 

“Jesus, you’re not going to _pay_ me.” 

“Of course I am. You’re not going to miss out on half a day’s pay for my selfishness.” Cas grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him close for a lingering kiss. “I am, however, going to sneak you out of here in a few minutes.”

“It’s like double jeopardy with the ‘no taking clients home’ rule,” Dean says, grinning. “Or at least that’s what I’ll tell Charlie.” 

“Fantastic.” Cas gestures towards the dresser in the corner that houses all of Dean’s various toys and implements. “Choose something, please.” 

“Here?” Dean says, then widens his eyes at the look on Cas’s face. “Ok, here. Just a sec.” 

Dean opens the bottom drawer, one he rarely ventures into with clients, and pulls out a thin black cane, the rubber smooth under his hand. 

“Good choice,” Cas murmurs, suddenly right behind Dean. He reaches around to take the cane out of Dean’s hand, flicks it in the air. “You’re going to like this.” 

Dean swallows and nods, but his entire focus is on Cas’s other hand, sliding from the small of his back up to his hair. Cas kisses the back of Dean’s neck, softly, then drags him to the bed and shoves him chest-down over it, ass canted into the air. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, and Cas laughs, even as he’s jerking the soft sweatpants Dean is wearing down to his knees. 

Cas doesn’t touch him again — it’s just the cane, until Dean’s sobbing with knuckles clenched-white into the sheets. Cas knows how much he can take, and rides just along that line until Dean is striped with welts and bruises. 

Dean doesn’t even notice the pleasure grow intense, intense, intense, until he’s crying out as he comes, making a mess of his t-shirt and the comforter. 

“Did you come?” Cas says, just tapping the cane across Dean’s ass a few more times. 

“I — yes?” Cas doesn’t usually make him ask for permission, and he didn’t realize it was happening anyway, but maybe it was wrong this time. Dean realizes he’s trembling a little. “I’m sorry.” 

Cas tosses the cane onto the bed and bends over Dean, blanketing him. Even his softest jeans are rough against Dean’s burning ass and thighs. “Don’t apologize,” Cas says, nuzzling into Dean’s hair. “You’re perfect. I knew you would like it.” 

“Thank you,” Dean whispers into the sheets, blushing.

“Now, get dressed. Panties if you have them,” Cas says, stepping back. “I’m starving.” 

Dean laughs and stands on shaking limbs. “Me too, actually. I was going to make ‘Steve’ give me a break in an hour to shove some food in my face.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Cas says. “Should we make a meal plan?”

Dean snorts and peels the soiled shirt over his head. “No, baby. I’ll do better.” 

“Good. Meal plans sound boring.” 

Dean flashes Cas a smile and tries not to blush under Cas’s watchful eyes as he dresses in a pair of purple lace panties and his civvies. “Where to, sir?” Dean says, shoving his feet in his boots. 

Cas arches an eyebrow in his _not amused_ face and says, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s almost embarrassing getting out of Cas’s ugly-ass _it’s fuel efficient, Dean_ car when they could’ve been in the Impala, but Cas made it clear he was driving and Dean wasn’t to argue. Which is why Dean also tries to hold down his grimace when Cas presses a hand to Dean’s lower back to guide him into a sushi restaurant. 

Dean’s eyes go to the ground as soon as they walk in. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the hostess grabbing a couple of menus. “One dom, one sub today, sir?” 

“Table for two,” Cas says firmly.

The hostess must be a dom, because a sub would never make the _hmm_ sound she does. Dean’s stomach goes heavy with the judgment in it. 

Dean takes his seat silently and doesn’t touch the menu while Cas orders their drinks. Once they’re left alone at the table, Cas bumps his knee against Dean’s and says, “I know you said you haven’t liked sushi in the past, but you also said you’ve only eaten shitty sushi. If you end up hating everything, we’ll grab a burger after, ok?” 

“Ok,” Dean says, glancing up. Cas’s smile makes his shoulders feel lighter, and he finds it in himself to tease Cas for ordering what sounds like the entire menu for them to try. 

The appetizer is fried, which works for Dean and Cas laughs as he devours most of it. Dean’s mouth is full when Cas says, “I love you.” 

Dean nearly chokes. He’s not sure he’ll ever be used to hearing it, especially from someone like _Cas._ The crinkles around Cas’s eyes might as well be laughter, and Dean says, “Shut up,” but then, “You too. You know that, right?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Cas says, smile turning soft. 

It takes more than one waiter to bring out the plates of sushi rolls, and Dean stares at each of the rolls suspiciously as the plates are set down, but he makes the mistake of glancing up when Cas says _thank you, ma’am_ and the waiter is giving Dean a look. The dom mark on his eye is big, the kind certain types of doms brag about, and without turning off his customer service persona, it seems like he’s sneering. 

Once he’s left the table, Dean takes a sip of his beer, a deep breath, and pushes his chair back so he can kneel next to the table. His knees go _thump_ against the hard floor and the welts on his thighs burn as denim pulls tight against them. He has to deserve Cas’s love. He has to be _good._

Cas looks down at him. There’s a brief softness that passes through his eyes, just like always when Dean kneels for him, and then he furrows his brow. “Dean?” 

“Yeah?” 

Quietly, Cas says, “Tell me. Is that what you want to be doing?”

“I want to be —” Dean says, flushing, “you know. Good for you.” 

“That didn’t exactly answer my question, which _does_ answer the question. Please sit in the chair. There’s plenty of time to kneel later.” 

Dean’s face burns hotter but he gets up, back into the chair, staring at the food so he doesn’t have to look at Cas.

“Dean,” Cas says, so Dean looks up to see him smiling. He gestures with his chopsticks, which are effortly posed between his fingers. “Try this one first.” 

“I’m not very good with these things,” Dean says, fumbling with his own chopsticks. 

“So use your fingers,” Cas says with a shrug. “Or let me show you how to use them correctly.” 

Something about Cas’s flippant tone makes Dean bark out a laugh and then say, “Fine, Mr. Chopsticks Savant. Teach me.” 

“Like this,” Cas says, and patiently shows Dean. Dean thinks he figured it out, but after several dropped sushi, Cas tosses his chopsticks aside and they both use their fingers. 

Out of all the rolls Cas ordered, Dean only hates one and finds it in himself to admit he more-than-likes some of them. Cas is ridiculously smug about it as they head back to Dean’s place. “You need to pack for the weekend,” Cas says, but again, refuses to say anything else. 

There’s a cabin outside the city, right on the Guadalupe River and nearly as old as Texas. Standing by the river after dumping their bags inside, Dean says, “This is amazing. We got the weekend here?” 

“Unless you have other plans,” Cas says, reaching to take Dean’s hand and squeezing. 

“You were my plans,” Dean says, turning to smile at him. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Cas tugs at Dean’s hand, pulls him close for a long, sweet kiss. “You deserve more than I could give. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to call you mine.” Dean blushes and tries to duck his head down, but Cas holds him still with a gentle touch to his chin. “Repeat that, please.” 

“You’re — uh, grateful,” Dean says. “That I’m yours.” 

“Thank you.” Cas presses a kiss to each of Dean’s cheeks, then says, “I’d like to go back to the house and try out the bed.” 

Dean laughs. Looks at the cabin, looks at Cas. “Race ya,” he says, and drops Cas’s hand to run. 

“You don’t run unless there are zombies!” Cas says, and Dean yells — breathless already, dammit — over his shoulder: “Pretend to be a zombie then!” 

Cas is a runner and catches up, then passes, Dean to bound up the porch stairs and fling open the door. Their boots pound across the hardwood floors, and in the bedroom, Cas grabs Dean and spins him around to shove him into the bed. Cas climbs on top of him, both of them breathing hard and laughing. 

Cas leans down and bites up Dean’s neck, nips at his jaw, whispers in Dean’s ear, _“Braaaains.”_

Dean shoves at Cas, but he’s a warm, stocky weight and can’t be moved. “I hate you.” 

Cas _tsks_ and bites Dean’s neck again, harder, the way that makes Dean’s breath catch for a different reason. Another quick bite, then Cas sits up, one knee between Dean’s legs. “How does your ass feel?” 

“Hurts,” Dean says, smiling. “Like hell, actually.” 

“Good.”

“Mmhmm.” 

Cas backs up off the bed, bending to unlace Dean’s boots and tug them off. “Guess that means we’ll have to take it easy the rest of the weekend,” he says lightly. 

“I’m back to hating you.” 

Cas pulls off Dean’s socks and sharply smacks the bottom of one of his feet. Dean squeaks and jerks and Cas laughs. “See what happens when you’re a brat?” 

“That ain’t nothin’,” Dean says, wiggling his hips to help Cas pull off his jeans and boxers. 

“Oh, is that so?” Cas says. “Turn over.” 

Dean flips, belly to the soft quilt, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. The air is cool across his still-throbbing skin. Cas _hmms,_ then brings both hands down onto Dean’s ass cheeks with a ringing clap. 

Dean cries out and clenches his fingers in the bedding. “Jesus, Cas!” 

“Was _that_ something, then?” 

“You smug asshole.” 

Cas laughs and pushes up Dean’s shirt so he can kiss the dimples on either side of his spine. Dean swallows, then shudders as Cas starts to press kisses across each of the many marks on Dean’s ass and thighs. With each kiss is a word like _good_ or _beautiful_ or _lovely._ Dean has to physically bite his tongue to keep from protesting, but he can feel himself blushing red down to his chest. 

After a final kiss to the soft round of Dean’s ass, Cas spreads his cheeks and runs the hot-wet of his tongue over Dean’s hole. Dean gasps, and soon he’s clenching fists into the quilt for an entirely different reason, whimpering and moaning as Cas licks him open slow and thorough. 

When Cas has had his fill, he leans down over Dean’s back to kiss his neck, three quick ones over toothmarks from earlier. “How much would you make fun of me if I said I wanted to make love to you?”

Dean will never admit the prickle at the back of his eyes, so he says, “A lot.” 

“I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it, because I would like to make love to you now.” 

“God, I love you, you fuckin’ weirdo,” Dean says, rolling over so he can watch Cas undress. 

Cas smiles, wide and gummy, which is somewhere near the top of the lengthy list of Dean’s favorite Cas smiles. “Take off your shirt.” 

Dean sits and strips it off while Cas digs through his bag, coming out with lube and a box of condoms. “I’m very prepared,” he says, tossing both onto the bed next to Dean. 

“The best doms always are.” 

Cas laughs, and Dean can’t take his eyes off him as he prowls into bed, cock hard and pretty as he fits into the V between Dean’s thighs. He’s quick to rip open the condom and slick himself up, and then he’s filling Dean with the slow, shallow thrusts that make Dean insane, going just a bit deeper every time. 

Dean whines, digging his nails into Cas’s back to try to pull him closer for a long kiss, and then several more, as Cas buries himself deep. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” Cas murmurs, and Dean nods in agreement, then tilts his chin so he can kiss Cas again. 

Dean wonders if Cas is thinking about the first time they kissed, if it feels the same on purpose. The burn of welts against the bedding, the way Cas takes him slow but sure, sharing soft gasps and moans against each other’s mouths. 

Cas wraps his hand around Dean’s cock and strokes, tight, all the way over the head and back down. The sound of their lovemaking — because it does feel that way, even if Dean won’t say it — is even more obscene while they’re still surrounded by sunset light through open windows. 

When Cas’s breath hitches just right, Dean says, “C’mon, Cas, c’mon,” clenching around him and squeezing his arms tighter around his shoulders, and Cas comes with a sharp bite to Dean’s bottom lip. 

Cas’s hand speeds up, makes Dean moan, makes Dean paint his pleasure between them, Cas’s cock still deep and throbbing. 

Cas gives him a final lingering kiss, then pulls back to dispose of the condom before draping himself over Dean’s chest, uncaring of the mess. He kisses just over Dean’s pulsepoint, and he must be able to hear the thunder of Dean’s heart, even when he tucks into the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“Holy shit,” Dean says. “Is that what I have to look forward to all weekend?”

It is. 

The Monday after their getaway, it’s past midnight and Dean is staring at Cas’s painting. He thinks it might be finished. Or maybe not. Maybe he needs another few weeks to try to correct some of the mistakes. It was dumb of him to take on something that feels so important, but in the end, he decides he’s done it: the angel has been chiseled free and stands defiant in dark paint, a warrior hiding a gentle soul behind razor-edged feathers. 

Unexpectedly, he hears Cas call from the front room, “Dean?” 

Dean wipes his paint-streaked hands on his jeans, like that will help, then leaves his art room to meet Cas at the end of the hall. “Hey, baby,” Dean says. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

“I need to talk to you,” Cas says. 

Even though he’s smiling, Dean’s heart sinks and his mouth goes dry. “Yeah? What’s up?” He’s proud that the words come out even instead of sounding terrified of another _I can’t do this anymore._

Cas grabs Dean’s hand and leads him back into the living room. There’s a small wooden box on the coffee table that wasn’t there before. 

They sit next to each other on the couch, knees bumping. “I meant to give this to you over the weekend,” Cas says. “But I was — a coward, basically, afraid that you wouldn’t want it. But I.” His hands are unsteady as he picks up the box and he fiddles with the latch. “You can say no. I understand if it’s too soon, or if you don’t want —”

“Cas.” 

Cas gives him a self-deprecating smile. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I want to know if you would wear this.” 

He opens the box, and inside is a collar, leather such a dark brown as to almost look black, with brass hardware.

Dean stares at it. Looks up at Cas. Stares at the collar some more. “That’s ok,” Cas says, closing the box and pulling it close, against his chest as if to hide it. “I understand.” 

“No, wait,” Dean says. “Of course I — Jesus, Cas, of course. I just didn’t expect — no one has ever asked before.” Dean takes a deep breath, and before Cas can respond, he slides off the couch to the floor, on his knees in front of Cas. “Please.”

Cas’s smile is a little shaky, like he truly believed Dean might say no. Like he doubts that Dean has dreamed about this. Slowly, Cas opens the box again, and very carefully takes out the collar to buckle it around Dean’s neck. 

Something clicks. Something seems clearer now, maybe just Cas’s adoration, but all of Dean’s doubts about himself fade a little to the background. It makes him brave enough to say, “I have something for you, too. I mean, it’s dumb — but awhile ago, you said that you might want to have one of my paintings, and maybe you don’t anymore, so you can totally trash it —” 

“You have a painting for me?” Cas says, almost sounding shy in his surprise. 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not any good —” Cas’s hard look cuts him off. “I know, sorry,” Dean says, flushing. “Do you want to see it?” 

Cas brushes his fingers over the O-ring on the front of the collar. “More than anything.” 

Dean’s the unsteady one when he stands. The collar is light, more symbolic than functional, but Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever forget he’s wearing it. “Wait here.” 

In his art room, Dean looks the painting over a final time. He hates it and loves it at the same time. He loves it, because here is a physical manifestation of the way he feels about his dom, but he hates it, because he doesn’t have anywhere near the skill to hope Cas will truly like it. 

The canvas is big enough to be unwieldy as Dean maneuvers down the hall and into the living room. He tries not to be too dramatic as he turns it to face Cas, and he tries not to read too much into the way Cas’s eyes widen and mouth falls into a soft _oh._

“Dean,” Cas breathes. “This is — this is incredible.” Cas gets up, comes closer to look at it. Still sounding a little unbelieving, he says again, “This is _incredible.”_

“There are a lot of mistakes,” Dean says, shrugging. “Maybe I can do something better now. But I worked hard on this. Wanted to make it right for you.” 

“It’s perfect. It’s beautiful.” 

Dean blushes, looks down. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you’d hate it and, you know, put it in the back of your closet with the Simon Says one.” 

“Absolutely not. This is going in my living room so I can brag to anyone who will listen about how talented and kind my sub is.” 

Carefully, Cas takes the canvas from Dean to set it up against the wall, just so he can throw his arms around him and hug him tight. “Thank you,” Cas whispers, and Dean thinks he might be a little choked up, like Dean’s stupid painting is worth crying over. 

“You’re welcome,” Dean says. “And — thank _you._ For the collar, and for just being you.” 

Cas pulls back just far enough to look into Dean’s eyes. Like always, Dean’s gaze is drawn to Cas’s dom mark, the black in his iris. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received,” Cas says. 

Dean touches the collar and says, “Me too. Come to bed with me. I just want to — hold you, or something.” 

Cas laughs and swipes at his eyes. “That’s a fantastic idea.” 

Dean’s hands are stained navy and leave a streak of it across Cas’s shirt when they curl together in bed, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He just traces his fingertips along the edge of the collar, over and over again, a soothing habit he never gives up, no matter how many years pass.

_ art by [all-or-nothing-baby](https://all-or-nothing-baby.tumblr.com/) _

**Author's Note:**

> [sharkfish on tumblr](http://sharkfish.tumblr.com)
> 
> [rebloggable tumblr post](https://sharkfish.tumblr.com/post/634909377832353792/a-delight-for-the-soul-on-ao3-a-bdsm-au-feat-sex)
> 
> i'm sorry i'm so terrible at answering comments, but please know that every single one is so precious to me and keeps me going on the rough days. <3 thank you for being here!!


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